


The First Night and What Came After

by FrozenWings



Series: Untitled Young Cassandra Series [1]
Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon compliant child abandonment, Comfortember, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, LITTLE CASS, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, fluffy fluffy fluff, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27434926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenWings/pseuds/FrozenWings
Summary: When Cap set out in pursuit of the princess and her kidnapper, the last thing he expected to find was the raven-haired, sad-eyed daughter she'd left behind. Likewise, he didn't expect everything that came after.My take on the Captain of the Guard finding Cassandra, and the days and weeks that followed.
Relationships: Captain of Corona's Guard & Cassandra (Disney)
Series: Untitled Young Cassandra Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817698
Comments: 58
Kudos: 39





	1. Save What Has Been Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As long as I am in this fandom, I will never get tired of reading fics about the Captain of the Guard finding Cassandra and/or her earliest days at the castle. Ever. Even though this fandom already has several great ones (I'll link them in the End Notes), it naturally followed that I would want to craft my own take on this event. 
> 
> Originally (early March, I believe), I only wrote this as a one shot; then this past August, I was hit with an idea for a few more chapters; by October it spiraled out of my control and wound up longer than I ever intended. Oops. So now here I am with this: a multi-chapter fic about something that probably didn't warrant a story of this length. Perhaps no one else is *that* interested in this premise, but if you are, I hope you'll enjoy!

The creek had proven deeper and swifter than initially surmised, almost as though it had been bewitched; enchanted specifically to make fording it a tedious, hazardous affair. Thus by the time Cap and his small band of men had arrived on the opposite side, the princess and her kidnapper were long gone. Nevertheless, he sent some of the most fleet-footed, keenest members of his party, those who were well-seasoned soldiers and experienced trackers, off in the direction she had vanished, praying that the trail hadn’t yet gone cold.

That hope was promptly dashed when the world was lit by the white tongue of lightning for a heartbeat, stentorian thunder immediately echoing in its wake as the heavens opened and let loose a downpour that had been building unnoticed since they left the castle. Clearly, nature was conspiring against them tonight, prohibiting them from pursuing further. Cap sighed, the cold rivulet trickling past his collar and down his back mirroring the clenching chill he felt as the reality of their situation became apparent.

The kidnapper would not be caught tonight.

He would be returning to the palace without a child.

_“MAMA!!! MAMA COME BACK!!!”_

Correction: he’d be returning to the palace with the wrong child.

Cap looked down at the source of the high-pitched wail that had underscored their efforts to cross the scream and threated to drown out his orders for McCormack and Jones and Smith to search for the felon’s trail: a small, small girl with long curly black hair that flowed loose down her back like the waterfall that fed the surprisingly swift stream and clad in a simple pale green dress.

The kidnapper’s daughter. Her daughter, whom she’d readily left behind in favor of the princess she’d just stolen. At present she was being held against his chest, face turned in the direction of her mother’s final flight as she cried and screamed for her to please, _please_ come back, face soaked with tears long before it was touched by the rain.

He frowned as he regarded her, using a gloved hand to move the sopping hair plastered against his forehead to the side so it (hopefully) wouldn’t continue to drip rainwater into his eyes. This was the sort of weather where one's helmet proved invaluable, but the girl was still wearing his, and he wasn't about to reclaim it; if she got a more-thorough drenching that she would already receive, she’d likely wind up pneumonia or something, and then they’d have an even bigger problem on their hands (as if they didn’t have enough of those already).

What to do with her?

Of course, they couldn’t just leave her alone in the cottage. First off, she was probably too young to be left alone like that in the first place (what in the world kind of mother did she have?). Second off, the hellcat wasn’t coming back; he just knew it. He had caught the unfeeling gleam in her eyes as she cut the bridge, a wolf in the moonlight going for the kill, and even though the greater part of his mind had been concerned with figuring out how to catch up to her and bring her to justice, a small, isolated corner issued forth a feeling of grief and sympathy on behalf of the girl on the doorstep who had just watched herself be unceremoniously abandoned like an unwanted runt (which she may very well have been; her weight in his arms was almost that of nothing, and even though he wasn't in the habit of picking up and carrying children, he had a hunch they weren't typically this small).

Once he and his men left, it was unlikely anyone would return to the secluded cottage in the hidden meadow save for wayward wanderers or brazen-faced youth sent out on dares. They’d essentially be leaving her to fend for herself, which she was _definitely_ too young for. Even he, knowing as little as he did about kids, wasn’t that ignorant.

What to do with her?

Well, there really was only one thing to do.

He sighed, deep and weary, and turned Romulus back the way they'd come, his men instinctively following. The persistent, pelting rain continued, giving form to the prevailing mood (apparently nature was as empathetic as it was conspiratorial), but Cap barely noticed his tunic starting to cling to his skin or how his hair was once again providing a highway for diligent droplets who wished to impede his vision. He was too preoccupied with trying to shield the stricken girl from the wet as much as possible while she continued to scream for her mother with a voice already starting to turn hoarse.

They had a long ride back to the castle.

******************************

They were almost back in Corona, and the girl had finally stopped crying, but the Lieutenant wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

He supposed he should have been glad for the quiet, for as stoic as Cap tried to be, he couldn’t deny that her cries, surrounding them from all sides like the resounding thunder that slowly chased them, had been hard to listen to. His men seemed to silently agree, all of them falling back to ride at a more than respectful distance and shooting uncertain, pitying glances in his direction when he wasn’t looking; even the trees themselves seemed to twitch their branches in botheration as their leaves were accosted by the singular penetrating sound of a too-young heart shattering. At first he had tried to comfort her, but he had absolutely no experience in this regard and ultimately gave up after a few tentative and ineffective "There, there’s" that were as wooden as the irritated trees.

Now, with the Corona castle towers in sight, visible against the black due only to the glowing yellow eyes of light peering searchingly through the rain, she seemed to have run out of tears, allowing mournful midnight silence to join their miserable party. However, the sobs had been replaced by a near-constant trembling, like the last leaf on a dying elm being buffeted by a winter wind, with small pained whimpers or breathy gasps escaping her throat every now and again, and she curled in on herself a little further with each one.

Cap didn’t pay much attention to the local youth, but he was pretty sure behavior like this wasn't in the realm of normal. The sight of her very obvious distress made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable way, like there was a knot sitting in his gut, one that didn't stem from the night's defeat.

The sooner they got her into the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, the better.

Barely thinking about it, he tapped his horse with his heels and flicked the reins, urging Romulus to set as fast a pace as the muddy trail and tired limbs allowed. The men with the relieved ears behind him made all manner of questioning grumbles and mutters to one another as they followed suit and wondered what had come over their commander to cause this voluntarily hastening homeward to report their failure to the captain they split off from back when the hunt was young. Cap let them grouse; he had more important things on his mind, shivering, whimpering things, and let their complaints going unchallenged by the thunder that finally called retreat as they arrived at the rendezvous point and the guards who waited there. 

“Greetings, Lieutenant. Status report.”

Captain Williams booming voice, rendered uncommonly pithy and short by the current turn of events, greeted Cap the second he pulled up his mount at the foot of the dateless bridge leading into the island capital. The seasoned captain sat at attention, tall in the saddle, authoritarian face illuminated by the flickering light of a few valiant lanterns and torches whose wavering glow refused to be conquered by nature's soaking onslaught (now a drizzle rather than a downpour, the only thing that worked remotely in their favor that night). He squinted through the rain at the other members of Cap's party as they came up behind him, halted their horses, and offered respectful salutes, searching each man and beast for any sign that this company had had more luck than his own.

Cap swallowed nervously as the captain’s gaze finally roved over him, eyes widening as he beheld the quivering bundle cradled against his chest that was obviously a little girl and just as obviously not the princess. His mind raced as it scrambled for the right words to explain how in the world he came into possession of such an unusual passenger, clinging desperately to him as though her life depended on it and trembling in a way to match the illuminating flames, and came up woefully blank.

Finally he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. Better just start with protocol: give his report as though there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary on his person. Keep things crisp and professional. Once he completed this unpleasant task, he could fully devote his mental efforts to crafting as decent an explanation for this girl's presence as was humanly possible. So he simply faced his superior, inclined his head in respect, and gave a bare-bones account of their search, ending with how their prey had been lost and completely omitting how his arms came to be full of not-the-princess girl.

Captain Williams listened closely, his expression grim. When Cap finished his report, he thanked him before looking around at the assembled men, half of whom (Cap's) were looking anywhere but at their captain, feigning ignorance on the matter whilst stealing curious glances at the lieutenant and his passenger, while the other half (his own) looked like they desperately wished to be set ‘at ease’ so they could commence pestering their fellows until finally being served the undoubtedly juicy account of the excitement they'd apparently missed.

“Let’s move, men,” he said, following Cap's example and acting as though nothing unusual had occurred as he turned his horse and spurred it to walk across the bridge, hooves clattering on the cobbles. The sounds of four were soon joined by scores as the other soldiers followed dutifully, Romulus automatically falling into his usual place alongside the captain. Seeing how they were relatively alone, the rest of the platoon keeping several yards behind and out of earshot (no doubt already wagging like serving girls), Williams’ expression softened and he turned his gaze fully to the shivering girl. “So, what’s this?” 

Cap sighed, fixing his gaze on the castle shining like a beacon in the distance, avoiding his eyes while still looking attentive. “Her daughter,” he answered flatly. No further explanation was needed as to who ‘her’ was. 

Captain Williams let out a low whistle as he removed his helmet and ran a hand through hair long gone prematurely gray, not minding the rain. “Well, that’s a twist I didn’t see coming.” Cap nodded in agreement as Williams sidled Apollo over to get a closer look at the girl, not that there was much to see beyond a tangled mass of sopping black curls running down the length of her back. Her face was still firmly buried in Cap’s chest as she continued to tremble, and he could just glimpse one of two small ivory hands clutching tightly to the man's shirt.

“Hey, sweetie,” Captain Williams cajoled as he bent close, searching for her face. She didn’t respond, still shaking and whimpering pathetically. Captain Williams noted this and frowned, not taking his eyes off her. “How long as she been like this?”

“A few miles by now,” Cap replied, performing a quick review of the distance they'd traveled since the piercing cries ceased. “She started right after she stopped crying.”

Williams frown deepened, and he reached down into an ever-present saddlebag to produce a ragged scrap of cloth that had at one point been a bedroll but, after more campaigns than could be counted and an encounter with a particularly vigorous litter of puppies escaped from the royal kennels, was now known as an emergency blanket, the captain staunchly refusing to discard something that still had a modicum of use in it. "Here," he said, holding out the worn piece of cloth with worry in his eyes. "See if this helps. At the very least it'll keep off the rain." 

Cap nodded his thanks as he took the blanket, clumsily draping it across her shoulders. Rather than welcome the dryness and almost negligible warmth, the girl flinched violently the second she felt the rough wool touch her skin, shuddering somehow harder and emitting a sort of strangled yelp. The movement made Cap inexplicably tighten his hold on her, as though his arm were now governed by the foreign, nonsensical feeling that also caused his heart to clench (the night must be getting to him). "Hey, it's just a blanket," he found himself saying in what was perhaps the softest voice he'd ever used as he tucked it around her as best he could (one that was only sandpaper instead of the abrasive scouring brush from the kitchens). "Not gonna bite you." 

As the words dropped into the surrounding umbra to join the pecking raindrops, Cap felt rather than saw Williams' sagacious eyes on him, and the creak of saddle leather from behind betrayed the private leaning over to whisper a supposition to his chum. Heat flew into Cap's neck, and he gripped the reins a little tighter, as though doing so would bring his galloping thoughts and suddenly stirring emotions, long left to lie in stasis and collect dust alongside old childish diversions and impulses, back under control.

What was he doing, offering reassurances about blankets of all things to a girl who had eyes nor ears for the world at present? He wasn't that sort of person. He was strict, disciplined, august, a dignified royal guard above all else, and decidedly not the type to do, well, this. A groaning sigh stirred the air.

Yup, the night was definitely getting to him.

******************************

After several blocks of silence save for clattering hooves announcing their return to the indifferent dark and the occasional startled *splash* as a sleeping puddle was disrupted, the defeated troop was accosted by a third sound: Smith’s voice, gruff and perpetually hoarse, cutting through the dark. 

“Uh, sir?” 

Williams reined Apollo and turned in his saddle to address the guard, his tone alone belying his annoyance at the unexpected stop. “We have places to be, Smith. This'd better be important.”

Smith indicated a dark street bustling with shadows off to the group’s left. “The orphanage is this way, sir.” 

The orphanage.

Cap didn’t understand why, but he suddenly found himself adjusting his hold on the girl, shifting and repositioning her in his arms as though to shield her from the word that sent a sense of algid dread trickling into his collar to course down his spine along with the rain. He wasn't an ignoramus; he knew this was what should be done with her. Even as he had asked himself the question back at the cottage, a part of him knew that she was destined for the dismal wooden building teeming with other kids who all had that one terrible thing in common with her. But for some reason, the thought made him want to snap with asperity at the ever-practical voice of reason that was Smith like a dog to the knavish youth trying to steal away that it held sacred.

“And?”

“”And isn’t that where we should be headed? To drop her off?”

Williams didn’t grace that question with an answer, instead turning to the other men sitting astride their mounts and watching with undisguised interest. “Anyone have the time?”

“2:45 A.M., Sir,” answered Yuri without missing a beat, the man always somehow having a wound pocketwatch on his person. 

“Very well,” said Williams calmly. “Smith, you may ride down and alert the matron to our presence, but be aware that at precisely 2:45 A.M tomorrow I will be pounding on your door in a like manner; if we will be so willing to disturb sleeping women and children at unholy hours, we must be willing to endure the same ourselves. Don't you agree?”

The false affable edge to his voice left little space to disagree, and Smith, who was always the last person roused in the mornings, pointedly remained where he was. Williams nodded curtly before turning back around and continuing on to the castle, confident that his men would follow, and only Cap was close enough to hear him muttering under his breath, "Girl’s a nervous wreck; like Hell I’m gonna drop her off at an orphanage in this state. What am I, an ice demon?”

The blackness of the street where the orphanage resided seemed to chase after Cap as he rode. It murmured in his ears and tried to curl around the child in his arms, a haunting presence irked at being denied something that was, by rights and convention and common sense, theirs. He shrugged his shoulders as though to dispel the feeling, and instantly felt ashamed of himself. What was he so uneasy about? He shouldn’t fear this. She belonged at the orphanage and *would* go there, not tonight but tomorrow, once she'd had a chance to calm down, for how else would they find someone to take her in and raise her the way she deserved? 

Doing it himself wasn’t an option; again, he knew nothing about kids, especially ones as young as her. He couldn’t even tell you why she kept shaking like this, shivering in a way that was decidedly out-of-place for a spring night, even considering the rain. Nope, he most definitely couldn’t raise her himself.

His eyes widened in the dark. Raise her himself? Where had that idea even come from to begin with?

*****************************

A pair of sentries met them when the battalion entered the castle courtyard, faces creased with worry and eyes full of a desperate hope that burned alongside the reflected lantern flames. “Did you find them?’’ they asked, propriety and protocol forgotten in their concern, gazes instantly flying to Cap and his laden arms.

“Regretfully, no,” Williams said, often jovial voice low and serious with grief. The two men shared a glance, then resumed eyeing Cap with confusion. They looked as though they wanted to ask what, then, was this child-shaped bundle, but Williams started talking again and they snapped to attention. “Let Frederic know I’ll be along presently to give a report of our search. Dismissed.”

After a moment’s hesitation, they saluted and headed back inside, bickering between themselves as to who should have the pleasure of relaying the captain’s message to their king. Williams turned to the remaining soldiers who had participated in the search, eyes jumping between him and Cap and holding a morbid interest, looking all the world like a pack of schoolboys waiting to see what sort of punishment their headmaster would dole out to a truant chum.

“You're dismissed too," he commanded in a tone that precluded any and all potential arguments. Another round of salutes were given before the small army trudged off to the barracks with their horses in tow, gossiping whispers flying about like so many buzzing mosquitos the second they were out of earshot.

With that, he dismounted, waiting for Cap to do the same (clumsier than usual thanks to his arms still being full of girl) and gave their horses to a waiting stableboy who had materialized out of the air and proceeded to show commendable discipline as he refused to let his wide-eyed stare linger on the lieutenant's strange armload and instead focused on the exhausted horses (the guard could learn a thing or two). 

Alone, Williams stepped closer to Cap and once again tried to catch a glimpse of the girl, still shaking and taking in short shuddering breaths, and knitted his brows. With Romulus and Apollo well on their way back to their stalls, he started tromping rapidly in the direction of the barracks. "Come on, Cap,” he said, forgoing use of the man's rank in favor of his name as he often did when it was just the two of them. “Let’s go.”

“The barracks, Sir?” he asked, wondering at their direction even as fell into the man's brisk pace. “Don’t we have a report to give to the king?” He couldn’t imagine facing the king with this kid in his arms, but they were under orders to report to him the second they came back, and an order was an order. 

“The king can wait."

Cap almost stumbled at William's terse reply. “What? Wait, are you suggesting we-“ 

Williams stopped instantly and wheeled around to face the lieutenant, his eyes somehow seeming soft and hard all at once. “Listen Cap, I know that we have orders from the King to let him know what our search parties turned up, but there are times when a soldier must go against orders to do what’s right. The king won’t keel over if he has to wait a little longer for his report, but this girl,” -here he paused to glance concernedly at the object at the center of this conversation- “This girl was clearly traumatized by whatever happened. I don't know if she's cold or sick or having some sort of nervous breakdown, but whatever this is it's already been going on for well over an hour, and that's no good. She needs help more than Freddy needs information, so that's what we're gonna attend to first.” 

With that he continued on to the barracks, Cap helpless to do anything but trail behind. He frowned anxiously as he ran an uncertain hand over the girl’s hair, trying to bid it to not mirror her persistent shaking. Now that the admittedly sickening thoughts of reporting their failure to his king pushed aside for the time being per Williams command, the bulk of his mind was free to focus on the disconcerting knot from earlier that bafflingly grew tighter with each fresh round of tremors from the girl he carried through the rainy night.

From somewhere beyond the courtyard walls a town crier shouted the hour, causing Cap to swallow a groan. The night, with its misery and strain and unforeseen developments that were causing supervenient feelings to swirl and rush uncomfortably about his chest, would reign for several more hours.

Another mewling whimper escaped from the blanket-wrapped child, making her sound like a dying kitten, causing those feelings to congeal into a leaden lump in his stomach.

Morning could not come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, there have been other talented authors who have tackled this scenario before me whose works I can't recommend enough: ["She's Not Coming Back"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21634219) by Buttercup_1, ["In Knots - Chapter 4: Remembering Love" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892560/chapters/54834412)by Providentially_Demonic, ["Family" ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23479804)by DreamsAndDaytime, and ["Different, but the Same"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21687556) by PizzaHorse (that last one's not Cap and Cass, but touching all the same and great if you love Arianna).
> 
> I might be forgetting some; I'll be sure to add them if that's the case. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it (please consider leaving a kudos or comment) and, if so, I hope you'll stick around! Until next time!
> 
> Tagging this entire fic as [ Comfortember ](https://comfortember.tumblr.com/post/628381629921017856/comfortember) because I just love that prompt list and turns out this fic covers about a quarter of them.


	2. Beginnings of Secrets and Something Else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Wow, thanks so much for all the support for the first chapter! I hope you all enjoy Chapter 2 just as much (advance apologies if it's a little on the short side; I wrote it quite some time and and was too fond of it to make many changes).

Once in the barracks Williams marched straight to Cap’s apartment, promptly making his way over to the fireplace. “First order of business is to get her dry and warm her up.” He reached into a small stack of kindling in an isolated corner and tossed an assortment of thin, brittle sticks and wisps of bone-dry straw into the hearth before arranging a couple of actually dusty logs on the gray-coated grate (when was the last time Cap used this thing?). “Then let her get some decent rest, give her some quiet. Lord knows she’s had one hell of a night; last thing she needs is more stress.” 

"Of course, Sir," Cap said, readjusting his hold on the girl so one hand could be freed to shut the door. "But...uh...if I may, sir, why here?"

"Why not here?" Williams questioned back somewhat distractedly, feeling along the mantlepiece for a match, finally finding one lone little stick that was dustier than the logs. "Yeesh, Cap, what'd you do, sit in the cold all winter?"

Cap chose to ignore that second query (he frankly didn't feel he spent enough time in the room to warrant a fire, choosing instead to spend his evenings being useful in the office or armory or wherever else) and instead focused on the first. "Well, sir, don't you think the maids would be better suited to handle...this?" After all, he had wanted to get the girl in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing (but not at the orphanage just yet for a reason he still couldn't divine the origin of), and as much as he trusted the captain's judgment and skill in all matters militaristic, this decidedly did not fall under those categories.

"Nope." A hiss and crackle heralded the first triumphant wisps of smoke as the captain struck the match across the flagstones and allowed the fledgling flame to hungrily lick the tinder, gathering strength for becoming a full-blown blaze. 

"Permission to ask why, sir?"

Williams turned to stare with mild exasperation at Cap, standing uncertainly in the middle of the room still holding the shaking girl, looking the very picture of awkward incertitude. "One, for the hundredth time you don't need permission for that. Two, the girl needs quiet, and I assure you she won't get that with the maids. You know what they're like."

Cap frowned at the puddle of rainwater forming near his boots, dripping from every inch of his waterlogged person. Yes, he knew what they were like: a generally nice bunch of women who harbored what had to be an unhealthy fascination with young things, a fascination that led them to smother any such thing with nurturing. This trait had been on full display a couple months back when a private had the unfortunate luck of the roof of his house falling in. 

Naturally, Williams had offered him, his young wife, and their infant son a room to stay in whilst the house was repaired, and just as naturally nearly every one of the scores of palace maids had descended on poor Vanessa with endless offers of 'help' that quickly dissolved into fussing over the baby, completely immune to Dagmar’s insistent ‘requests’ (orders were more like it) to leave the woman in peace. Apparently fear of crossing their head was not sufficient to overcome that nurturing inclination, and the young mother had looked immensely relieved when she could finally return to the quiet of her home on the bustling streets of the capital. It was not a stretch to imagine how they’d react to an incredibly tiny little girl who was pitifully whimpering to boot.

“Is there anything you want me to do?” he asked, acknowledging the wisdom of his captain’s decision without saying as much (simultaneously opting to ignore the incomprehensible corner of his mind that actually felt relieved), watching as Williams unceremoniously scooped up an armload of blankets and pillows from his bed and dumped them by the hearth.

“Here,” he indicated the small nest of bedclothes he had just made on the fraying rag rug in front of the now roaring fire. “See if you can lay her down here. It’ll be warmer.” 

The helmet was relieved of duty and placed aside, firelight glinting off its golden surface as Cap carefully pried white, wooden fingers from his shirt, slowly uncurling them until they released the fabric and not realizing how he was murmuring reassuring words all the while (though they didn’t go unnoticed by Williams). Once he was extricated from her grasp, he rigidly laid her down on the mess of blankets. A motion was made to reclaim the decrepit one still wrapped around her shoulders, but the action was abandoned when he noticed how the girl's fingers had found a new lifeline in the worn cloth, threatening to wear a new hole in the ragged wool. Instead he stepped back to take a seat on the floor between the girl and the hearth, allowing the heat from the flames to get to work drying his sopping self, watching as Williams tucked her in snugly before joining him. 

Now that she was lying on her side instead of buried in Cap’s chest, both men had a full view of her face, and Cap felt something inside him clench in an unfamiliar way. Both squeezed-shut eyes were red and swollen, tears streaking her cheeks, and her shaky, shallow breaths whistled slightly through her still-streaming nose. Her lips were pursed and she curled inwards, blanket clutched to her chest so she was nothing more than a small, shaking form on the sheets shrinking into herself as though praying that if by looking small and pitiful enough the fates would show mercy and return her to the life she once knew. She hadn’t acknowledged either man or the change in her surroundings, only shaking and whimpering and causing Cap to clench his hand into a fist lest he find himself obeying that curious urge to try again with offering comfort.(where was that even coming from?)

The men sat in silence for a while, watching the girl by the drying fire, occupied with thoughts of the crushing hours behind them and the miserable ones stretching forward and, at least on Cap's part, a surprising amount of concern-tinged premonitions for the forsaken girl, until Williams broke it. 

“So, her daughter?” 

His voice was purposely low, a hoarse whisper that was almost swallowed by the prattle from the rambling flames that kept the girl's ears deaf to the captain's words. The lieutenant nodded as he peeled off a glove and ran a hand through his hair before emotionlessly stating, in a voice just as low but twice as old, “She left her."

Those three words were the catalyst for the tale, and in no time the captain was briefed on the circumstances leading up to their meeting at the rendezvous point, from the pounding chase through the woods to the girl's unanticipated appearance on the doorstep straight through their dispirited ride back, underscored by the child's full-blooded cries of grief.

“That’s terrible,” Williams said, voice dark, and he turned back to the girl, whose tremors were thankfully starting to subside as her breathing returned to a more reasonable speed and her fingers relaxed enough to enable the fabric of the blanket to droop in relief. "So you’re fairly certain she’s disinclined to come back for her? Not interested in some sort of parlay?”

Cap recalled the way the woman had destroyed the bridge without hesitation, eyes cold and vicious as she truly looked the part of the merciless wolf, and galloped off without so much as a backward glance. He nodded his head again, Williams "Hmm’d" disapprovingly, and the silence returned.

This time it was Cap who interrupted the quietude. “So, what now?” 

“Now,” said Williams, moving to stand and stretch, stiff muscles snapping and cracking as he did so. “I should go give the king that report, now that I have the full story. You,” he held up a hand to stop Cap’s imminent interruption, “should stay here with the girl.” 

His words seemed to knock the wind out of Cap, so breathless and terrified was he at their implication. _Him_ stay to babysit the kid? _Him,_ who knew nothing about kids apart from the fact that they were tiny humans? His musings from the street near the orphanage came flooding back, chasing away the relief from earlier so doubt could move in. Even though, for some reason he couldn’t quite describe, he didn’t relish the thought of leaving the girl just yet, he didn’t feel confident or comfortable enough to be left alone with her. What if she woke up and needed something? He wouldn’t know what to do! Though he always trusted Williams’ call, this one, he just knew, was a mistake.

“All due respect, sir,” Cap began the second he found his voice again, “Are you sure she wouldn’t be better off if _you_ stayed? Seeing how you actually have experience with little girls?” He seemed to remember the man having a daughter, one who married a man from Ingvarr and left Corona right around the time Cap enlisted; she only visited rarely, having found life in a land of warriors and steel and mechanical wonders preferable to the kingdom of the sun with its endless festivals, and he'd only met her once or twice, but she still existed and, well, constituted experience he did not have.

Williams gave him a sympathetic smile, but stood firm. “It’s been a long time since Reveka was this young; it’s not like I’m in practice. Besides, the poor girl’s been through more hell today than any kid her age should have to go through, having her entire life turned upside-down in a matter of hours. As it is, she’s going to have no idea where she is when she wakes up. The last thing she needs is a strange face as well.” He paused to place an encouraging hand on Cap’s shoulder, smiling assuredly. “She knows you and, judging by the way she was gripping that shirt, trusts you. Just be there for her when she wakes up. You’ll do fine.” With that he headed for the door. 

Cap stayed where he was for a moment longer before a thought struck him, and he hurried to catch Williams before he left the apartment. “Sir?” he called, and Captain Williams paused on the threshold, silhouetted by the low torchlight illuminating the hall. “Uh,” Cap began, suddenly unsure of what he was about to ask. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably as his gaze darted about the room, as though searching for tattling eyes in the shadows. “Um, I, uh, don’t think it’s entirely necessary to let the king know _exactly_ where we found the girl, do you? I mean, when the time comes to, er, find her a new home, it might be better for her if people _didn’t_ know who her mother was.”

Williams looked at him steadily for a moment before allowing a conspiratorial wink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant. We can’t tell that which we don’t know ourselves, and little girls left alone in the woods are hardly inclined to talk about the parents who abandoned them.” With that he left, leaving Cap alone with the girl, not acknowledging his subordinate's mention of finding the girl a new home, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Cap stayed by the closed door long after it shut, studying the wood with empty eyes that held swirling thoughts. What was wrong with him? He never stammered like that, especially not in front of the captain. And keeping secrets from his king? What the heck had gotten into him? He could only surmise that it had something to do with the strange feeling that had taken up residence in his chest ever since he found the girl, constricting around his throat and squeezing his heart until it was tender, mysteriously making his words scramble for purchase on his tongue whenever his thoughts turned to the plight of the raven-haired figure curled up in front of the fire. It was grossly unbecoming for a soldier, especially the first lieutenant, and the logical part of his mind said that the best course of action was to take her to the orphanage straightaway come morning and get back to being his old, rational, unsentimental self. After all, it was for the best, never mind that the thought only made him feel so much worse.

******************************

Eventually, Cap trudged back to the fireplace where the girl still lay. As uneasy as he was at the thought of being responsible for a young child, there was truth in Williams words; she'd need someone there when she woke up to help her make sense of where she was and what had happened and take care of whatever else she might need. And since he was the only (as far as he knew) responsible adult around, that someone was him. 

He reclaimed his spot on the floor from earlier, back to the fire, taking care to find a dry spot of floor, and had to bite back a startled yelp when he noticed a pair of wide, glistening eyes staring owlishly up at him from the bundle of blankets.

“Oh, uh...you’re awake,” he managed, and the girl nodded slowly in response, unblinking. His mind stalled as he tried to think of what to say next; what does one say to a little girl you just met and who lost her mother only a few hours ago? “Well...uh...” Cap felt an uncommon heat start to creep into his face, knowing instinctively that it wasn’t from the fire. He hated that he was having such a hard time getting words out tonight. He ordered troops around all day and frequently addressed the king without issue; why couldn’t he talk to a little girl? 

A series of rough coughs from said girl jolted him out of his head, and he recalled the hours of full-voiced, desperate screams, no doubt rendering the small throat red and raw and desiccate. Immensely relieved at being presented with a problem he knew how to solve, he moved into action. No sooner had the girl drawn breath for a second round of coughs when he guided her into a sitting position, leaning against his side for support, and placed a glass of water against her lips, which she drank greedily until it was drained and the coughs subsided.

“Better?” he asked, setting the now empty cup aside. The girl nodded mutely a second time, staring vacantly at the fire, not so much as looking up at him. Now that she had unfolded from the self-protecting ball she had curled into among the blankets and was illuminated by the wavering orange and yellow light of the fire, he got his first real good look at her, and a pang went through him. 

First off, she was far too thin; her dress (only slightly damp now, the fire, helmet, and still-purposeful blanket having done their job well) hung loosely from her shoulders and almost seemed too big for her, despite it being the smallest dress Cap had ever seen, smears of dust and soot clouding the faded green. To say her skin was pale was an understatement; she was lurid to an alarming degree, and her cheeks had a hollow, sunken-in look about them, making the budding supposition that she was severely underfed seem all the more likely, and the thick, curly black hair was even more tangled and knotted than it appeared when he first found her. Overall, she was the very poster child for pathetic, neglected waifs.

She didn't speak, leaving any conversation up to Cap, who was desperately trying to think of something to say to engage the girl. _This is ridiculous,_ he thought after several fruitless minutes passed. _I know nothing about kids. Heck, I don’t even know-_. 

He could have slapped himself for not thinking of it sooner.

“So, *ahem* what’s your name?”

The girl didn’t respond right away, still staring at the fire as though entranced. Then, in a hoarse voice that was barely above a whisper and still choked with suppressed tears, “C-ca-s-sandra.” 

“Cassandra,” he repeated, rolling the name over on his tongue and in his mind. He’d heard the name before, in myths and ancient stories, but never seen it attached to a living, breathing person. It was quite the name, smooth and silky, elegant and exotic, befitting a fine and glamorous lady, but it also had a bite to it, a spunk, a spark, a mischievous glint in a winking eye. And somehow, even though the broken, withering girl at his side looked like none of those things, he just knew that the name suited her perfectly. “That’s a beautiful name.”

She, no, _Cassandra_ , had no response but a sniffle, mechanically accepting the handkerchief Cap produced and keeping her stare fixed on the fire even as she scrubbed at her eyes and dripping nose. Cap cast about for something else to say, and it wasn't until she finished with the linen did he land on another common question he’d heard posed to children in the village. “So, Cassandra, how old are you?”

Cassandra’s gaze flickered down to her small hands folded in her lap as she counted silently on her fingers. One. Two. Three. “Four.”

Four. Cap’s eyes widened at her answer and he felt his heart clench. She was only four. Too young to be left alone like that witch had done that night and perhaps many nights before. Too young to be experiencing all this. _Too young for you to keep._

Cap’s stomach flipped at this final thought, spoken by his subconscious in a stern, scolding manner, once again reminding him of the most logical course of action and how, come dawn, he would take her to the orphanage where she could find a proper home with a nice family, a mother (a good one this time), a father, maybe even some siblings. People who could raise her right, take care of her needs, and show her the sort of unconditional love and attention she deserved. And yet...

Somehow the thought still failed to sit well with him. The thought of handing her off to the admittedly nice ladies at the orphanage to be given to someone he barely knew, coupled with the very real possibility of never seeing her again, made him want to hold her tight against his chest once more. True, she was neglected, far too young, and would no doubt be suffering the emotional fallout of her ordeal for quite some time, but he still felt himself inexplicably drawn to her and gripped by an overwhelming desire to protect her and keep her safe, no matter how daunting the task may seem. Even now, talking to her (no matter how brief their poor excuse of a conversation was) and seeing the way her head was starting to droop as exhaustion threatened to overtake her, he felt something in him soften

“Here,” he said, moving to readjust the blankets. “Why don’t you get some shut eye?” 

Another nod, then she finally looked up at him, and he felt his breath catch. Her eyes were a most remarkable color, not quite gray, not quite green, but some mix of the two, and they were filled with a heart-wrenching combination of sadness and fear. ( _add trust issues to the growing list of reasons you shouldn’t keep her,_ the voice in his head noted vexingly). 

Her small voice came again, hesitant and holding a fear to match that in her striking eyes. “Can...can you stay?”

_She wants me?_

He couldn’t help but marvel at the notion. Here she was, scared and hurting, and she wanted _him,_ the random stranger who carried her to this unheard-of place far from her home (crap, he forgot to let her know where she was, though in truth it seemed she had other things on her mind at the moment; it could probably wait until morning) and who barely knew how to talk to her, to stay with her while she slept. The depth of meaning behind this simple request was not lost on him, and he couldn’t help the warm feeling that bloomed throughout his person, richer and more gratifying than that from the glowing flames, nor the reassuring smile that claimed his lips. “Of course.”

Soon the two were settled comfortably among the blankets on the floor (it was late, he was tired, and he was not making up the bed), bathed in the light of the fire, flames growing smaller as though they, too, were spent. Cassandra rolled onto her stomach, but didn’t close her eyes just yet. She looked up at Cap as though she was debating whether or not to ask him something. 

”Do...do you need something?” Maybe telling her where she was really couldn’t wait until morning.

“Is Mama coming back?”

Cap felt tears spring to his own eyes at the sound of her pleading, despondent question that, judging from the way she was looking at him, she already knew the answer to but didn’t want to believe it. Somehow it was harder to answer coming from her than from Captain Williams, and he took a moment before he slowly shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.” And he was, for reasons beyond the stolen princess.

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, willing hot tears to not fall, and turned her head so she was facing away from him, though her attempt to hide her sorrow was undermined by the way her small shoulders were shaking with silent sobs.

Cap lay there, propped up on an elbow, at a loss for how to respond, until something stirred in him and he found himself reaching over to rest on large hand on Cassandra’s back. She flinched harshly at his touch just as she had at the blanket, as though his hand were lightning, stinging and electric, then gradually relaxed as he started to rub her back in a soothing motion, oblivious to how he winced at the way his palm bounced over protruding shoulder blades and vertebrae, tangible indicators of just how thin she was (did that witch even feed her?). 

At once he heard a voice speaking into the night, and his heart skipped a beat when he realized it was his own. “I’m sorry your mama left, but you’re gonna be alright. No one here’s gonna hurt you; you’re safe. And,” his heart had climbed into his throat, but his words went around it and kept coming. “Things will get better. I swear it. Guard’s honor.”

Cassandra turned her face back to him, and though her green/gray eyes were still shedding tears, she met and held his gaze. “Really?” she breathed, the word holding all the doubts and disbelief of the young girl. 

The reassuring smile that was foreign to him but came surprisingly easily returned. “Really.” 

With that Cassandra closed her eyes and let out a deep, sad, sigh, as though finally accepting the dismal truth she had so desperately wished was false; Cap didn’t know it was possible for one’s heart to ache so much. Clearly, she wasn’t much for talking, and when she looked back up at him she said nothing more, allowing her eyes, shining and impossibly sad, to speak instead, still pining for her mother but, amazingly, thanking him as well, for staying, for helping, for promising. 

He also didn't know one's heart could melt either, and it had to be the late hour but he almost swore his own eyes became wet.

Under his hand, Cassandra moved to edge closer to him, but then stopped herself and shrunk back, as though apologizing for even considering it and begging him to not notice her grave transgression. He did, though, and let that previously unknown part of him that had stirred to life as he lay by the fire respond accordingly.

“Come here.” Cap opened his arms in what he hoped was a welcoming way, and the next thing he knew Cassandra was snuggled against his chest as she fell into an exhausted sleep, his hand still absently rubbing her back.

Outside, beyond Cap's view, the stars shifted in the heavens as the night wore on, shining, silent witnesses to Cap's failure to save the intended girl, his rescue of a forsaken one instead, and that hidden, furtive place known only to one where Cassandra's mother now hid with the princess. Cap felt the stars' movement as the hours passed and he listened to Cassandra's even breaths, watching the flames fall to embers. For tired as he was sleep would not find him.

He knew what he’d be expected to do tomorrow, what he _had_ to do, and the thought was making him sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this chapter the best thing I've ever written? Probably not. Is it one of my favorite things I've written? Unquestionably. 
> 
> I have long held the headcanon that Cass being Gothel's daughter was one of Corona's best-kept secrets, and I'm not about to abandon it any time soon (but absolutely no objections to any fics or headcanons to the contrary; I'm happy with any and all Baby Cass content).
> 
> On a different note, anyone have any advice for thinking up chapter titles? I don't like just doing 1, 2, etc., but wow is it hard to think of stuff...
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Also as always, comments and kudos never go unread or unappreciated; if you enjoyed this, I'd love to know!


	3. With the Dawn, What Comes Then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, Chapter 3! After editing and re-editing this chapter to an almost obsessive degree, I’m just gonna call it done and post (darn perfectionist streak...). I hope you enjoy!

Cassandra stirred sleepily, cheek rubbing against something large and warm as she slowly woke. _Mama,_ her half-dreaming thoughts supplied, and a small blissful smile curved her lips. Mama didn’t really like her climbing into bed with her, but she must have made an exception, likely because Cass had done such a very good job cleaning their house and fixed their dinner exactly how she liked it. But...Cass didn’t remember Mama being any more pleased than usual with her handiwork; actually, if anything she had been more critical than ever lately. 

Perhaps it was because Cass had been sick? She certainly felt cruddy, what with her sore throat and pounding head and crusty eyes. That didn’t make sense either, though: if Cass wasn’t usually allowed in Mama’s bed when she was healthy, she was most certainly _not_ allowed when she was sick.

This was confusing.

One of the crusty eyes was rubbed and blearily opened, then the other. A couple of blinks later, Cass gasped and sat bolt upright, backing away from the very large, very _not_ Mama man she had been snuggled against. What...? Who was- where was Mama? And- she glanced around, panic mounting with every breath as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings - where was she? 

Eyes large as a fawn's beheld walls and floors made of stone instead of warm wood, a table with a single chair tucked into it instead of two, a tall, narrow window instead of the broad one she loved, and the pile of blankets on the floor she and the man had shared. She had just taken in a filling breath, ready to yell for Mama, when last night came crashing down on her, an avalanche descending on an innocent valley.

Bridge. Stream. Cool, dark night. Rain. Mama, riding away on some large creature Cass had never seen before. Her, crying and screaming until her throat gave out, and the uncontrollable shaking that had taken over once it did. This man beside her, carrying her off to a place she did not know as she cried, then agreeing to stay with her as she fell asleep by the fire, nestled into his chest.

_Is Mama coming back?_

_No. I’m sorry._

Cass buried her face in her hands as she fought to keep the wail tearing at her throat from escaping and struggled for breath against the painful ache that pulsed through her with each heartbeat. No, no it _couldn’t_ be true, her thoughts screamed, but her shattering heart knew it was. Mama was gone, gone from her life, forever, probably because Cass had failed in some way to make her pleased and earn her love. She had tried her best, but it hadn’t been enough, and now she was all alone.

No. Not alone. 

She peered through her fingers at the man, still sleeping and making the same snoring noises Mama did (just not as loud). Her fear and grief and shock from the night before receded enough for her rational thoughts to take hold, thoughts that had previously been drowned out by booming thunder and desperate cries and a slew of strange noises from the creature the man rode as he carried her. Mama had warned her that the world beyond their cottage was dangerous and full of bad, evil creatures who did bad, evil things, things that she said were too terrible to tell a little girl. This _had_ to be one of them. 

The panic climbed up her throat, and Cass almost screamed for real this time, but stopped herself, not wanting to wake the bad, evil man. She couldn’t believe she had let herself turn to him for comfort last night, actually talked to him, and then snuggled up to him as she fell asleep. Why, she could have died!

But...nothing bad or evil had happened. 

Cass slowly lowered her hands into her lap and cocked her head as she studied the man (may as well, since he was sleeping and, naturally, couldn’t do a bad, evil thing). He didn’t _look_ like something she should be scared of, what with his resting face and messy hair and that silly looking bunch of bristles over his lip (what was with that?). And he had been so nice to her since taking her in his arms and carrying her away from the cottage, not yelling at her for crying and making sure his hands were gentle as he gave her a drink and helped her lie down and rubbed her back (she had really liked that). And even though his voice was nothing like Mama's, rough and halting instead of silken and sure, his words had been so kind and soothing, draping over her comfortingly like a blanket warmed by a hearth fire as he said he was sorry, promised that she was safe, and swore that things would get better, words that, for some reason, she couldn't help but believe. 

Cass considered all this, furrowing her brow as she thought. Maybe Mama made a mistake? That was possible; Cass made mistakes all the time (as Mama never failed to point out), so it naturally followed that anyone, even her, could make one every now and then. 

She dipped her head to the other side, looking at the anomaly from a new angle. Then again, Mama was never wrong; she said so herself. If she _said_ the seemingly nice man was dangerous, then he probably was and she should run off and hide while she still could.

She didn’t though, and continued to sit, staring, watching him take deep, even breath after deep, even breath, waging a mental war of historical four-year-old significance. Finally she stood, wiped clammy palms on a wrinkled skirt, smearing them with dirt in the process, and tiptoed around the man to the aforementioned window and the cushioned bench she just now noticed running alongside its base, so very much like the one back home; a bastion of familiarity in this strange new world where Mama was gone, random men said consoling things, and her heart sobbed with every beat.

Cass pulled herself up and settled herself on the bench, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her chin atop them as she had hundreds of times before, continuing to stare at the man. Her head hurt too much from all the crying last night to keep trying to puzzle all these contradictions out. So, she decided the best thing to do was just sit here, watch, see what happened when he woke up, and go from there.

It couldn't possibly be worse than losing Mama.

******************************

Cap must’ve dozed off despite his swirling, sickening thoughts, because he woke with a groan, rubbing at his neck and back. Serves him right for being lazy and opting to sleep on the floor rather than make up the bed. He slowly sat up, arching his shoulders back to loosen tight muscles, stiff from a night of riding and bad rest (if it could even be called that), and looked down at the spot where he remembered Cassandra falling asleep. Nothing but disorderly blankets greeted him.

The constricting feeling that had been slinking around his throat and chest all night intensified. There was no sign of Cassandra. 

The color couldn’t have drained from his face faster.

He had just sprung to his feet and started to make for the door to check that it was locked, suddenly fearful that she had tried to head back to the cottage on her own, when something out of place caught in the corner of his eye. He whirled towards the window to behold none other than Cassandra seated mutely on the bench, watching him with the silent, unblinking stare of a hoary idol.

A weighty sigh of relief blew past his lips and he walked over to crouch in front of where she sat. She eyed him skeptically, not moving. 

“Hey,” he offered, feeling that ‘good morning’ wouldn’t be appropriate (he was pretty sure this was the worst morning of her life). “Slept okay?”

No movement from the girl, but judging from the dark bags under her bloodshot eyes, the answer was likely no. “Yeah, me neither,” he mumbled, rubbing at his own aching ones in an effort to alleviate the pounding headache that had greeted him with the sun, wondering what in the world to say next (daylight apparently did nothing for his conversational woes).

Something in the sky must have shifted, because uninhibited rays, inquisitive about the room's novel occupant, streamed through the window, highlighting the rampant dirt and dust clinging to Cassandra's dress and hands as well as an obvious suggestion (how did he keep missing those?). He nodded towards the washbasin in a corner of the room. “There’s, uh, a washbasin over there if you, um, wanna freshen up....or something."

Cassandra still didn’t blink, nod, speak, or in any other way acknowledge his offer beyond shuffling along the bench to widen the gap between them. Cap fought the urge to frown and give physical form to the uneasy feeling wrought by her indrawn state, mulling over what to do next. She was clearly disinclined to talk or even answer the simplest of questions; maybe he should just leave her alone for the time being.

So he stood and moved to the aforementioned basin to splash cold water on his own face and ready himself for the day to come with movements that were slower and more deliberate than usual, weighted down by the hellacious night behind him and the equally bleak day that stretched ahead; how could it be anything else, considering what he'd be doing? All the while he was aware of the girl’s affectless stare on his back as those gray/green eyes followed his every move, watching and waiting for something he simply couldn’t figure out and looking all the world like some strange variety of owl. 

It was a tad unnerving.

An idea suddenly came to him in the form of something he’d forgotten to do or, more accurately, say, last night. "You're probably wondering where you are,” Cap said from the corner, keeping his eyes on the dirt he was scrubbing out from under his nails. Now that it was morning and she’d had some rest (operative word being ‘some’), she was probably curious to know where she was; maybe telling her would put her at ease. "This is the castle."

Cap couldn't have said how, but he felt something change in the way the girl was looking at him. He carefully slid his eyes over to look and saw that she had lifted her chin from her knees ever so slightly, belying the tiniest amount of interest. It bolstered him, and he kept going, an inexplicable eagerness to amuse Cassandra causing him to not notice how he started to ramble in a way that normally would have embarrassed him all the way to the Lost Sea. "Well, not the castle exactly, but the barracks where the royal guards live. I mean, not all of them; some have houses and families nearby in the city. But those that don’t tend to just stick around here, like me and the Captain. It's...” his words stalled as he tried to think of an adjective to adequately describe the place he lived in for nearly two decades, “...nice.”

Cap visibly winced; nearly two decades, and that was the only word that came to mind. ‘Nice.’ Good thing he had never aspired to be a bard.

Cassandra didn't seem to care, though; another brief looks showed that she was still interested, and he nearly asked her what she thought of the place, then stopped himself, and turned back to his contemptible reflection in the basin. What she thought didn't matter, no matter how much the question burned behind his lips and some dang internal voice insisted otherwise; she wouldn't be staying here much longer. In an hour or two, probably less, she’d be whisked off to the orphanage where she belonged. 

He scowled down at the slightly rippling image, hating that phrase, ‘where she belonged.’ No kid should belong there in that tumbledown building that sat wearily on a street that always seemed shaded even under the noonday sun. It was a pity things weren’t different, her older or him more experienced with kids and in a different line of work, otherwise maybe that irrational thought from the night before, that he could raise her himself, could be seriously explored. But as things stood, there was no way-

A knock on the door interrupted thoughts and caused Cassandra to fairly leap out of her skin and off the bench with some sort of high-pitched yelp; Cap was surprised to find himself suddenly halfway to the window (when did that happen?).

“You awake, Cap?” came Captain Williams’ voice through the wood. 

“Yes, Sir.” Cap went to toss the washcloth he had forgotten he was holding over the side of the basin as he answered, simultaneously trying to smooth out his hair into something remotely presentable. Not waiting for an invitation, Williams admitted himself, and the rich, tantalizing scents of coffee and bratwurst and toasted bread accompanied him, making Cap’s mouth water and summoning hunger that fought through the persistent agitation. The captain set the laden tray he was holding on the table and, after not finding a second chair, dragged one in from the hall (which, somehow, always seemed to have one lying around) began pouring two cups of strong black coffee. 

“Everything alright, sir?“ Cap ventured, noticing how his superior somehow looked even worse than he felt; if Cap didn’t sleep well, it looked like Williams didn’t sleep at all. But the older man simply shot him a teasing half-grin and said in his usual amused tone that for once felt forced, “What, you don’t want the honor of dining privately with your captain? I guess I could always ask the second lieutenant. Course, he's out sick and I do _not_ want to catch whatever he has...” Cap tried not to roll his eyes at the weak attempt at humor and started to move towards the table before pausing and detouring to the windowbench. 

Cassandra had scrunched herself into a corner where window met wall, eyeing Williams with distrust. She thought she remembered him from the night before, a friendly-sounding voice in the dark trying to talk to her before setting her down to rest as comfortably as possible in the nest of blankets by the crackling fire. And the seemingly nice man was apparently okay with him, which she took to be a good sign. But Mama’s words continued to ring in her ears, and she held back; best to take things slow, just in case it turned out Mama really was always right. There was a throat-clearing sound nearby, and broke her study of the new man to see that the first one had returned, standing stiffly and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Think you wanna try and eat something?” Cap ventured with a gruffness he hated but couldn’t help. He distinctly remembered how he had been able to count her vertebrae by touch the night before and wasn’t so ignorant as to think it’d be wise to let her starve herself further. Plus, who knew how much she’d get to eat at the orphanage? Better she eat now (the thought promptly made his stomach want to revolt, so he shoved it to the back of his mind and bade it stay there).

Cass flicked her eyes up to him, then to the table where the other man sat, then her feet before giving a half-hearted, barely perceptible shrug. She wasn’t hungry (if anything her stomach hurt), and since she had eaten lunch yesterday, some of the cheese and dry biscuits from the pantry, she knew from experience that she could probably make it until evening before her stomach became impossible to ignore. Probably. But the supposedly nice man _was_ offering, and the food _did_ smell good. So when, after a debating moment where his eyes darted between her and the table while he shifted uncertainly in place, he bent to pick her up and carry her over to the table (apparently, here a shrug meant 'yes’) and sat her on his lap after muttering something about not having any more chairs, she didn’t protest.

Williams pushed a small cup of milk across the table, taking in the chary way Cassandra looked at it, one eye glued to him the entire time. “Good to see you up and about, miss,” Williams greeted her, touching his fingers to his brow as though he were respectfully tipping an invisible hat to a fine lady. She, of course, said nothing and sat stiffly against Cap, leaving the suspicious milk untouched.

“Aren’t you thirsty, Cassandra?” Cap asked concernedly (don’t tell him she was going to refuse to eat...).

“Maybe she doesn’t like milk?” Williams offered, instead pouring a cup of water which was regarded with the same amount of dubiety (even though her mouth felt like sand, she wasn’t sure she wanted to drink just yet, not with both men’s eyes on her; good thing she was good at waiting). Cap hummed in his throat, perturbed, and was ludicrously wondering if kids drank coffee when Williams’ voice came again. “So, ‘Cassandra?’ ” He nodded as though he had just heard something pleasurable. “That’s a fine name for a young lady.”

Cassandra continued her distrustful stare, but it softened just the slightest (she liked it when people said nice things to her; it was a welcome change from the past couple weeks). “Any idea how old she is?” Williams asked, directing his question to Cap instead of the skeptical child on his lap. 

“Four.” He tried to keep the dolor out of his answer, thinking again about how she was too young for all this (and to keep), but Williams showed enough of it in his face, mixed with surprise.

“Four?” he repeated, almost disbelieving. “Are you sure?” 

“That’s what she said.” Williams had no further response beyond shaking his head and muttering something under his breath, and Cap bit back a remark about swearing in front of the kid. 

“Well,” the captain said after a moment, trying to shake off the dreary mood and not really succeeding. “Hurry up and have something to eat; we’re wanted in the castle war room in half an hour, tops.”

“War room?” Cap repeated, puzzled. “This castle doesn’t have a war room.”

“It does now.” 

Cap nodded, noticing the defeated light in Williams’ eyes, and said, after taking a mouthful of sausage. ”How’d it go with His Majesty last night?”

“About as well as you’d think,” Williams said darkly, staring at his coffee. His face turned blacker than the drink and Cap obeyed the silent request to not discuss the matter further, much to the man’s relief. He wanted to spare his lieutenant and, more pertinently, the tyke who he just knew had sharp ears to match her eyes, the ugly details of the Cimmerian briefing that quickly turned precarious; besides, neither needed to know how Frederic had raged at him like a tiger upon an unfortunate prisoner in a Roman arena or how it was only through God’s and Arianna’s grace alone he still had his life, let alone his job. 

Likewise, his ulterior motive for taking a private breakfast with the two did not merit sharing. Knowledge of how he wanted to avoid the dining hall and accompanying stares (some curious, some judgmental) and whispers (some muted with solicitous effort, others purposely loud and for his ears) would not benefit either of them.

Thus conversation lapsed for the meal, both men opting to focus on their food instead of what was or wasn’t being said (at least food still made sense in the waking nightmare they’d all been thrown into). Cap had strategically placed a slice of toast within Cassandra’s easy reach (everyone liked toast, right?), and while he never saw her do anything other than sit stock still with her hands knotted in her lap, by the time he had eaten all he wanted there were a couple of small, tentative bites missing from the bread and, if he squinted, the level of water in the glass had dropped a hair or two. _Better than nothing,_ he thought to himself as he stood and placed her back on the bench she obviously had a preference for. Immediately she resumed her earlier position as though she had never moved at all, continuing her study of Williams as he drained his third cup of coffee (yup, the man didn’t sleep at all). 

Cap ran a disquieted hand through his hair, mussing it as he watched her in turn. His plans from the previous night, to take Cassandra to the orphanage as soon as possible no matter his ridiculous sentiments on the matter, would have to be put on hold by the king’s orders. It was a mixed blessing, really; on the one hand, it meant he’d have to leave her here alone for the day, which he wasn’t thrilled about for some reason he couldn’t put a finger on. But on the other, it meant he got to stave off the unpleasant task until later (which shouldn’t give him such relief; as it was, it was somewhat shameful that it afforded him any). 

He didn’t realize how long he’d been watching her on the windowseat until Williams cleared his throat, hand on the doorknob. “She’ll be fine, Cap,” he said, tone reassuring. “I spoke to Dagmar and she said she’d check in on her throughout the day. I know it’s not an ideal arrangement, but it’s the best we can do, all things considered. Besides,” he peered over sadly at the girl who was still looking at him as though he might turn into a snake at any moment, “unfortunately, I think she’s used to being left alone.”

No doubt he was right, but it was still another ten minutes before they were on their way to the sprung-up-overnight war room. Striding silently alongside his lieutenant, Williams found that the smallest corner of his mind was beset by a most unexpected feeling of amusement, a sole star flickering in an overcast sky, as he recalled the clumsy but nonetheless fatherly way Cap explained about Dagmar to the uncommunicative Cassandra (he’d put good money on a plant having more of a reaction), made sure the toast and water she’d been picking at were left somewhere she could reach, and dumped a drab woolen blanket opposite her on the bench, mumbling something about a draft and how that thin excuse of a dress she was wearing wouldn’t do a thing to her favor. 

The flickering star glimmered in his eyes, feebly tugging a corner of his lips. He had a hunch something like this would happen. After seeing how Cap had been with Cassandra the previous night, holding her closer than the situation demanded and trying to offer what little comfort he could, he’d have been more surprised if the man *hadn’t* started displaying some sort of fledgling parental affection for the girl. Though Cap would probably deny it if asked, it seemed he had already claimed Cassandra as kin in his mind if not with his words, not mentioning the orphanage once.

The star was extinguished as quickly as it appeared, though, for there was one aspect of his meeting with the king last night that had stood out among all others, one that had resulted in a monarchical glare that made the breath still in one’s lungs so they were drowning on land. One that, judging by what he just witnessed in the privacy of the apartment, Cap wouldn’t like one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d tell Cap not to worry, but, well, I don’t feel like lying to him.
> 
> And apologies if this fic is a tad on the slow side; I didn't realize just how much time I took building things up while I was writing this. The pacing does pick up later on, though.
> 
> Lastly, wonder of wonders, a canon character who is not Cap or Cass is going to show up in the next chapter! It’s probably pretty obvious who, so I’m just gonna come out and say a fair warning to any Frederic fans: this *may* not be the fic for you...
> 
> Please consider leaving a kudos or comment if you're enjoying this; I'd love to hear your thoughts! Until next time!


	4. The Darkness Beneath the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, Chapter 4, subtitled: In Which Frederic Enters the Story, For Better or For Worse (probably worse). I hope you all enjoy!

Corona had a long-standing reputation as a peaceful nation, always the last to enter a war and the first to call for a truce, and as such Cap had never seen a full-fledged war room in all his years of service. And yet, the second he and Williams crossed the threshold into the well-lit chamber, he knew he had just walked into the textbook definition of one.

The long mahogany table that filled the bulk of the space was the only indicator of the room's prior purpose of an informal dining hall, throne-like chairs and fine embroidered table runner vanished with the night. In their stead was an agglomerate of miscellany that was layered upon the table until not an inch of the dark brown finish was visible: quills, inkpots, blank scrolls awaiting royal commands to fill their faces, and countless maps of Corona and her neighbors, both near an distant; as he came to stand at the foot of the table, Cap glimpsed the purple, green, and gold crest of Arendelle, a land so far to the north that they traded goods or diplomats only rarely, on the corner of one peeking tentatively out from the confusion.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have taken that as an admonitory of what was to come.

Frederic, their lord and king, stood at the head of the long mahogany table, his face hidden from view as he bent over the disarray, but Cap could see the faint tremors coursing across his tense shoulders like those that rattle the chains holding a raging beast at bay. He swallowed and fought the urge to wet his lips nervously, the sight sending something cold to trail down his spine and settle, writhing, in his gut. The guards stationed in the room clearly shared his sense of unease as they exchanged nervous glances, one keeping his gaze fixed on an indifferently ticking grandfather clock as he counted the minutes until his shift ended.

“Sire,” Williams said in a too professional, clipped tone, eyes uncharacteristically stern as he saluted and tried to scowl away his nerves. “Captain Williams and First Lieutenant Cap reporting. What do you require?” 

“A captain who isn’t a completely worthless moron who should be on his way to the gallows.” 

Frederic’s voice growled as it padded across the papers and slunk around the room, causing the hairs on the back of Cap’s neck to stand on end. Brows were doggedly lowered beneath the brim of a golden helmet in an effort to keep them from shooting up in unbecoming alarm, and the cold thing in Cap's gut writhed harder. If he hadn’t heard the king’s words with his own ears, he would have seriously questioned the veracity of the tale-teller, for such an unduly harsh condemnation was unheard of from him; while Frederic could be quite austere when the situation demanded, he had a history of being just in his decisions and fair in his pronouncements, letting kindness and empathy guide his actions. Yet here he was, openly threatening his captain with execution, the very antithesis of a peaceful, benign ruler.

Cap frowned as he studied the monarch, still bent and focused on the papers on the table rather than the men he summoned. He wasn’t an idiot. He hadn’t expected the king to be his normal self; the man had just had his child stolen, for heaven's sake. But something about him seemed...wrong. Very wrong. All his wondering ceased when Frederic finally lifted his gaze to fix hard, unfeeling eyes on the captain, and Cap’s blood turned to ice in his veins. 

He was never one to fear his monarch; why would he? He had no reason to. He served him loyally and dutifully and never questioned his commands or decrees, carrying out his orders sans hesitation or doubt. That promptly changed, however, as the shrouding shadows slipped off His Majesty's face. 

It was disquieting enough to see the typically ordered hair standing on-end in every which way, the furrows that had been plowed across his face overnight, and the lips set in a forbidding granite line. But it was his eyes that surpassed all else in wrongness. They were not the king’s eyes. They were the wild, crazed eyes of a near madman, driven to the brink of insanity by grief and for whom reason and understanding were of no use; who would listen to no voices but the feral, manic ones screeching in his head.

And in that moment, every criminal, every miscreant, every adversary he had faced, man and rabid beast alike, became nothing more than an overconfident lapdog yipping from its mistress’s arms in the face of a mad king.

Williams had no response to Frederic’s far-from-passive aggressive statement and simply continued to stand at attention awaiting further instructions. The quiet that blanketed the room was disturbed by the crisp rustling sound of papers being shuffled about, trembling under His Majesty's condemning hands as though fearful that his anger at the man who had scribbled their surfaces with ink would find vent in them. “I’ve been reviewing the search plans you laid out, _Captain_ -” there was venom in Frederic’s use of the title, “-and completely disapprove of them.” 

“Permission to ask why, Your Majesty?” Williams words were steady, but Cap didn’t miss the way his determined scowl faltered with apprehension.

_"They’re unacceptable!_ ” Frederic roared, and the guard watching the clock fumbled his halberd. 

Hesitantly, as though he were approaching a wounded slayer wolf rendered more dangerous by its nascent defenseless state, Cap edged around to stand on the king’s left, looking down at the maps covered with handwritten arrows and dates and dots representing men. They detailed an exhaustive search regime that had platoons methodically combing every inch of the kingdom so that no stone, leaf, or blade of grass was left unturned in the search for the princess. Judging by the timetable that had been outlined in slightly sloppy script, the entire search should take about four weeks, five tops. After that, if (God forbid) the princess was still not found, guards would be dispatched to search the neighboring kingdoms who, according to some hastily scrawled memos, had already been notified of the situation by messenger and asked to mind their borders and be on alert should the kidnapper attempt to flee Corona with her prize. 

Cap frowned in confusion as he surveyed the plans. What was Frederic talking about? They were perfectly reasonable plans, crafted with Williams’ usual meticulousness.

As though reading his thoughts, Frederic expounded on his earlier assessment with words as white-hot as an iron freshly pulled from the flames. “Do you expect me to allow my daughter to sit in the clutches of a carline for _a month_ before she’s found? Leave her to suffer while you take your time looking under rocks and behind vines? Is that really the best you can do?” 

“Sire,” Williams said evenly, coming around to stand alongside Cap, putting himself between his lieutenant and king, “with all due respect, I intend to conduct this search with as much haste as thoroughness allows. Hopefully your daughter will be found in a matter of days, but I can assure you that with this plan, she _will_ be found.” 

_“Found dead!”_ Frederic roared in Williams’ face, spittle flecking his helmet and breastplate. “I want this search done as quickly as possible!” 

“Your Majesty.” Sweat was starting to bead on Williams’ brow, the memory of his near-execution the night before still fresh. “Corona is a large country rife with woods and caves and hidden valleys and glens; a thorough search is what this requires, otherwise something will be missed.” 

_“Then do a thorough search quickly!!!”_

Frederic didn’t seem to notice that he had just issued a contradictory command, only standing there, towering above the captain, Cap wisely opting to keep his thoughts and support for Williams' plan to himself for the moment lest the king's rage find a new target and the second lieutenant find a promotion when he returned to work (if he did; Cap wouldn't be surprised if he got wind of this and wrote up a resignation notice from his sickbed). 

The example of rage personified that was the king drew a sharp breath through his nose, then reached for a map painstakingly filled with Williams' scrawl and tore it in two, then four, then (with an alarming lack of effort) eight. Williams took an unconscious step back when Frederic met his eyes again, and the growling beast prowling the room returned, as menacing and dangerous as before. 

“You _will_ assemble a company of your men. You _will_ search this kingdom completely. You _will_ return here in three weeks with your findings. Understand?”

Cap understood perfectly, and Williams did too: the king was asking the impossible. As Williams said, Corona was a large nation; crossing it on horseback easily took a week, and that was if one was riding hard and fast and singly and didn't stop to peer into caves and copses in hunt of a fugitive. Furthermore, a fair amount of the kingdom was comprised of dense forests that covered mountains, vales, and towering cliffs. There were any number of places a lone woman with a small child could hide and even live undetected. This situation, no matter what the king said, demanded the sort of thoroughness for which Williams was known. His command was folly. To cover the entire kingdom in the time given, the chosen men would have to travel at a grueling pace that would exhaust horses and riders alike. And exhausted men were careless men, meaning that things, important things, would be missed; heck, he didn’t gamble like Williams, but he’d be wiling to bet that by the end of the first week the troops would be blind to a dragon by the roadside. 

But it was still the king’s command, and denial was not an option, especially considering his apoplectic state. And though Williams’ words from the night before came back to him, he knew now was not the time to assert what was right (or, in this situation, appropriate) over royal decree, especially if he valued his position and neck. 

Williams seemed to be of a like mind, for he nodded his comprehension and compliance without hesitation. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll gather my men and head out straightaway. Lieutenant?” 

Cap turned to follow the captain out the door, mind already engaged in the dual tasks of deducing the most efficient yet encompassing route through the mainland forests and debating what on earth to do with Cassandra now, leaning towards just letting her stay for the next few weeks instead of delegating the orphanage trip to someone else (delegation, in his experience, never ended well, as the half-dozen crossbows McCormack somehow ruined between the barracks and the woodworkers' could attest to). He had barely taken a step, however, before the beast growled again. “No. He stays. I have use of him here.” 

Williams halted, gaze vacillating from Cap to the king and back, looking like he wanted to argue but holding his peace; Cap was one of his best men and would be invaluable on the search, but the derangement in Frederic’s eyes stilled his tongue. Instead, both listened silently as Frederic stiffly rounded the table and pushed a pile of illegibly-written leaflets into Cap’s hands. “There is too much crime in Corona,” he said darkly. “If there were less criminal scum lurking about, things like this-“ his voice cracked, and for a brief moment Cap was able to see through the baleful pall to the broken shell of a man cowering underneath, but the curtain was lowered in the same heartbeat it was ever-so-slightly parted, “-wouldn’t happen. Someone has to pay, and until that woman can be brought to justice, her thieving brethren will.” 

“Your Majesty,” Cap hazarded, flipping through the leaflets, struggling to read the penmanship that looked as though it had been written in the dark sans so much as a stubby candle (which probably wasn't too far from the truth, considering how the king was presently blinded by rage). “I’m not sure I understand-“ 

“I want every pickpocket, every lock-picker, every truant schoolboy throwing a brick through a window rounded up and hauled off to the dungeons, where they will be made an example of! Let it be known that Corona will not tolerate any mischief of any kind from anyone!” Frederic pounded a heavy fist on the table, punctuating his speech and causing several papers to jump in surprise at his proclamation.

Cap swallowed thickly, his own fist tightening on the papers. The question of what constituted ‘making an example of’ went unspoken, though between the gallows in the prison yard and the prison barge that haunted the Lost Sea like the Flying Dutchman, guessing at the answer wasn’t difficult. 

An imperious finger from HIs Majesty jabbed the leaflets. “You and your men are to put up these notices around the city, alerting people to what happened and promising a handsome reward for information. While thusly engaged, you will then begin to round up any lawbreakers, no matter who they are or what they're doing, and haul them off to the dungeons. And you will continue to do so every day for the foreseeable future.” 

“Your Majesty,” Williams interrupted (perhaps unwisely), “Corona law does not dole out prison sentences for petty thieves or vandals.” 

_“It does now!”_ Cap half-expected the glass in the windows to shatter from the vibrations of the king’s booming voice, and he just knew that if the king had a weapon on his person it’d be drawn and held threateningly at the captain’s throat. “Now you have your assignments. Dismissed!”

It would have been unbecoming to run out of the room, as Williams hastily did, but as Cap calmly (or, at least, outwardly calmly) strode towards the door he wished he had, for had he done so he would have been well past the threshold and down the hall before the king could waylay him a final time. 

“Lieutenant, one more thing.” 

The gelid temperature of his words caused gooseflesh to spring up along Cap’s arms as he turned, somehow feeling that whatever this ‘thing’ was it’d cause him more grief than any of the prior mandates. 

“I understand a girl who was not my daughter was found and brought back to the castle last night and entrusted to your care?” 

Cap’s stomach dropped out of him as he gave a slow, fear-filled nod. Frederic's eyes were black.

“Williams said she was too sick to be dropped off at the orphanage last night, correct?”

Another reticent nod as he thanked the fates Williams had concocted an explanation for their actions regarding Cassandra that even a maddened king could not condemn. Frederic growled in the back of his throat and grabbed a quill, dipping it in ink and quickly jotting down a note on parchment. He haphazardly sprinkled it with too much pounce, then folded it and handed it to Cap, speaking with undisguised disapproval. “I grant you an hour with which to take her to the orphanage and drop her off. Give the head matron this note explaining the situation; they won’t give you any trouble about illness now. If they still hesitate, you may offer them an allotment out of the treasury purse. I don't care how much, just so long as they keep the brat. I want her gone from these grounds. She already distracted from the search once; I won’t have her impeding your efforts again.”

Cap’s mouth was coated with sand, rough and dry and unable to form words, so he instead nodded dumbly a third time, took the note with spasming hands, and saluted before turning away.

This time, he ran.

******************************

Back in the apartment, Cassandra continued to stay seated on the windowbench as though rooted there. Save for a quick trip to the washbasin to scrub away the night’s tears and then to the large bed to make it up when the man who brought her here failed to do so (he had been so nice to her, this was the least she could do to thank him), she hadn't budged from the spot since being replaced there after the breakfast she barely participated in (not that the food didn’t taste good; she just...didn’t want it). 

At one point, sometime after the bed was put back in order, a stout woman with a face like a ripe apple had bustled in, the one the nice man had mentioned. She, too, had seemed nice, smelling of soap and polish and asking Cass questions about if she was hungry or thirsty or wanted help getting cleaned up, all of which Cass answered with the same unblinking stare she'd employed that morning. Well, excepting that last one; that time she did shake her head 'no' (she did _not_ want her to assume a ‘yes’). The woman had hummed consideringly, a frown appearing on her ruddy face, then proceeded to putter about the room, muttering to herself about the pervasive dust, bachelors who didn't know how to be bothered by it (Cass decided that a 'bachelor' must be a variety of man; a messy variety, judging by what the woman was saying), and the largely ignored slice of toast long gone cold, visibly bothered by how much of it was untouched. The whole while Cass watched her studiously and soundlessly, unduly fascinated by the sight of a woman so different in demeanor and figure from the only one she knew.

Eventually, the woman showed herself out, promising to return in 'a bit' with something fresh for lunch, leaving Cass alone to wonder why everyone here was so focused on trying to feed her (it really was unnecessary; she was very good at going a long time without eating) and not think about her mother, drawing a blank for the former and mostly failing at the latter. ‘Mostly’ because, for a time, she had been busied with attempting to puzzle out what sorts of creatures were prancing about in the grassy yard down below. They sure were pretty. She had initially thought they were some sort of deer, just bigger, without antlers, in different colors, and with long tails that flowed out behind them like laundry on a line in the wind. But, then again you didn’t ride on deer, and these creatures were for riding. That was how she had come to this place with the nice man, and how her Mama-

She stopped trying to figure them out.

Voices suddenly interrupted Cass’s miserable musings, muffled by the heavy wooden door that led in and out of the small room. She strained her ears, listening to see if she could pick out the rich, rolling voice of the stout woman from earlier, wondering if it had been 'a bit' already (when Mama said that she usually meant a day or two). It was not to be heard, however; these were rougher and deeper, similar to the voices she vaguely remembered hearing the night before. She looked back to the window, letting the voices float around like smoke from a cookfire while she continued not thinking about Mama, paying them little mind, until one prodding wisp pressed her name into her ear. Instantly she turned her full attention to the conversation in the hall, holding her breath to better hear their words. 

“Abandoned, eh? Poor kid.” 

“Yeah, a rough lot if there ever was one, and I can’t imagine it’s gonna get any easier.”

“How so?” 

“Well, now there’s the question of what to do with her. And as I see it, with no father around and her mother not wanting her, there’s really only one place for her to go.” 

“Hmmm. You don’t think the lieutenant will keep her?”

"Don’t see how he can. I mean...” 

The voices faded away as the men they belonged to continued on down the hall, off to some mysterious destination and blissfully unaware of the listening girl behind the door, eyes wider and face paler than they’d been all day as she finally succeeded in not thinking about her mother, for now she had a new worry.

What was going to happen to her?

The nice man had said she’d be safe and taken care of, but where and by who? Here and with him? That _may_ not be so bad; he and the man who brought breakfast and the woman who came afterwards had all been surprisingly nice, even if she wasn’t sure she liked them yet (though she did find herself wishing the nice man would come back soon; maybe he'd let her sit with him again). They were nothing like what her Mama had said to expect, doing all manner of nice, helpful things that Mama never had time for or wasn't around for or simply didn't like doing.

But the men who the voices belonged to didn’t seem to think that would happen. Why? Was it because of something she did? Or maybe something she didn’t do? Or perhaps he just didn’t want her around? Was...was it because something was wrong with _her_? Something that made it impossible for her to earn other people’s love, causing them to run away and leave her all alone, just like Mama had?

Was she just simply not worth loving?

Cass crumpled and buried her face into the cushion covering the bench, despairing, and while she did not free the sobs pushing against her chest, the tears burning her eyes found release. She shivered as a thin stream of air slipped in through a crack between window and wall and brushed across the back of her neck and bare arms, an icy tongue licking her and tasting the misery that clung to her skin and liking it, making itself comfortable as it curved around her in a comfortless hug and whispered in her ear to get used to this, for it was all her future held: an endless night of aloneness where morning would never come.

Not lifting her face from the cushion, she reached for the blanket the nice man had left and wrapped it around herself to bar the tongue from further attentions, just like she used to do while she waited for Mama to come home, with one notable difference. 

This time, she had no hope to keep her company while she waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, poor Cass :( 
> 
> When I started this story I did *not* intend for it to be an ‘explain it’ fic; it just...happened. I always envisioned Williams to be a capable soldier and, in accordance with this, wanted to provide a plausible explanation for how Gothel’s tower could have been missed repeatedly in searches. Having the crucial initial search be mishandled seemed the most logical route.
> 
> Lady Cain’s remarks about how Fred really cracked down on crime following Rapunzel’s kidnapping heavily influenced my portrayal of him, as did the irrational streak we saw crop up throughout the first season. Think I did okay?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you’re still enjoying my ‘Cass and Cap origin fic that is way longer than it needs to be;’ please consider leaving a kudos or comment if you are! As always, I love seeing them! Chapter 5 will definitely be up before Christmas, so stay tuned!


	5. King’s Orders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! I actually met the goal I set and got this up before Christmas! Bit of a long chapter today (it probably should have been two, come to think of it), but I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Romulus chuffed and pawed at the cobbles as Cap pulled him to a stop in front of a building and dismounted, tiredly tacking the last of the leaflets to its side. Cap couldn’t help but give a dry chuckle when the chestnut head suddenly appeared alongside him, tilting left and right as the stallion tried to make sense of the king’s penmanship before finally pinning his ears and glowering as though he could intimidate the letters into behaving, his disapproving chuff causing the paper to flap limply. 

“Yeah,” Cap said with an agreeing nod. “I doubt anyone’s gonna be able to read them either. I’ll see about getting some legible ones made up.” Romulus snorted, voicing his support for the motion, before turning broadside so Cap could remount, moving into a trot the second he landed in the saddle. The lieutenant scanned the street as they went, searching for any signs of trouble and sagging his shoulders in relief when he found none. Normally he didn’t mind a little excitement, but considering what the past twenty-four hours looked like, he was glad for the calm.

It seemed as though the princess’s disappearance had cast the entire city into a state of mourning. The typically bustling streets were nearly deserted, with the only people to be found standing in tight, whispering knots comprised of women who turned their eyes heavenward as they prayed for the unfortunate babe and men shaking their heads drearily as they expected the worst. Most of the vendor carts were closed, shutters latched as though they were ashamed to display the trinkets and baubles that constituted their wares, the sale of such ornamental gewgaws inconsequential in light of the great tragedy that had just occurred. The merchants standing at the few carts that remained open were subdued, not loudly hawking at passersby to come and sample their sweetmeats or be tempted by luscious fruits or fabrics, and coins were exchanged without fuss, neither seller nor buyer having the heart to haggle.

Perhaps most notable, though, was the lack of children. It was as though the Pied Piper had come to Corona: no young boys or girls scampered down the street shrieking as they played, tossed coins in the fountain as they dared one another to walk the rim, or stood staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the sugary creations displayed in Uncle Monty’s window. One need not have been a sage to figure out what brought about this change. 

_“Help! Thief!!!”_

The shouted cry cut through the quiet of the street, seemingly amplified by the prior noiselessness. Without waiting for a signal from his rider Romulus plunged into a gallop, racing in the direction of the yell, promptly drowning it in the sound of his hooves. Cap’s gaze narrowed as he searched the storefronts and alleyways, hunting for the source of the disturbance. 

_There!_

An overturned fruit seller’s cart, a pale-faced woman wringing her hands and dithering, and a tall, slim man streaking down a side street, a burlap gunnysack clutched in his fist. Not sparing a glance or reassurance to the merchant, Cap urged Romulus faster. The steed was only too glad to obey, turning sharply and kicking up a few loose cobbles as they entered the side street the man had disappeared down, displaying a ferocity and intenseness that was at once terrible and awe-inspiring to see.

The thief was a wily one, leaping over walls, maneuvering through mazes of alleys, and vaulting from rooftop to rooftop with all the swiftness and lightness of foot as the most lissome fox. But where there is a fox there are usually foxhounds, and Cap and Romulus were fully committed to the role a they charged after him in hot pursuit, always trailing behind but a pace or two, and that narrow gap was rapidly closing. Streets and alleyways and storefronts and open doorways where pale-faced housewives clutched scampering children to their skirts flew by as the chase leapt and bounded across the city, and despite the impossible speed neither party showed any sign of slowing, even as they began to run out of city to cover. 

Finally the thief started to head for the bridge, the one that led out of the island capital to the mainland, and he grinned euphorically. If he could just make it to the forest on the other side, he’d have decent enough cover to vanish into the shadows of leaves and boles and lay low until night fell and the tenacious guard and horse on his heels were forced to give up and head home empty-handed. He hazarded a glance behind him; no fiery-eyed horse or hard-faced man pounding the pavers until it was a wonder they didn't crack filled his view. Huh. That was odd; he was sure thy were right-

“OOF!”

The wind was knocked out of the man as he collided against a solid wall of something, falling back to the ground hard enough to momentarily see stars. The next thing he knew someone was rolling him over, pulling his arms behind his back, wrenching the sack from his grasp, and clapping iron cuffs onto his wrists. He blinked a few times, clearing his vision, and he found himself eye-to-eye with the lowered snout of that damn horse, a smug sort of grin on its face. He growled threateningly at the animal. It simply blew out his nose at him before backing off a few paces as his rider pulled him to his feet, one and the same as the guard who had detoured down an alley so he could outpace his quarry and then used his mount as a sort of living brick wall to permanently halt his flight (an admittedly basic but effective trick, and he hated that he had been so foolish as to fall for it). 

The thief turned to glare at the soldier. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“You’re under arrest for theft.” Cap stated gruffly, and Romulus stalked over to the abandoned gunnysack. 

“Arrest?” the man said incredulously. “What have I done that would get me arrested?” 

“I trust you didn’t pay for whatever’s in that sack?” Cap said, head tilting to indicate the brown fabric Romulus was nosing with professional interest. The man didn't answer, defiantly holding his peace. Romulus grabbed the sack with his teeth and upended it, spilling it’s contents across the ground, a small assortment of shining, glistening-

“Apples?” Cap couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. He had been expecting the merchant’s cashbox, not the fruit itself. “What the hey are you stealing apples for?” 

“To feed my kids, lout.” 

Cap turned him around so he could reprimand the scum and stare threateningly into his face (call him that a second time; go ahead), but found his harsh resolve cracking the second he did so. For even though his tone was sarcastic the sentiment was not reflected in his eyes, and Cap knew the claim was the truth. He looked over at Romulus, moving the apples back into the sack, not tempted to take so much as a mouse-sized nibble, and sighed. 

There really weren’t that many; not even a bushel. Petty theft, really. And he knew for a fact that such a misdemeanor, like Williams had said that morning, did not have the consequence of a jail term or being shipped off on the next prison barge. A fine, manual labor, perhaps a weekend in the stocks at most; not something that would ruin his life and, by extension, the lives of the kids who had driven him to such actions.

As he watched the horse, the long rays of the sun, low in the sky as the day started to come to a close, fingered the shining insignia on Romulus’s breastplate, the same golden sun that adorned Corona’s flags, official documents, and the medallion around the king’s neck. The thought of the monarch summoned the memory of his meeting with the man hours earlier, eyes filed with madness as he issued orders that bordered on tyrannical. A pit opened in Cap's stomach and his heart quickened to a pace that almost put Romulus’s dash through the streets to shame. 

And the crack was filled.

Cap turned back to the apprehended man, face looking as though it had never known sympathy or emotion or mercy. “Move it,” he said, pushing the man to walk ahead of him, Romulus following behind with sack containing the recovered apples clenched in his teeth. 

“You can’t arrest me for stealing apples!” the man shouted over his shoulder, face contorted in rage.

_Tell me something I don’t know._ The glum thought filled Cap's head, but he chose instead to flatly say, “King’s orders,” and leave the matter at that. 

The man scowled and spat at Cap's boots, spittle flying to land among the flecks of dried mud from the night before, further marring the typically-shining surface. “Well, make sure to send the king Jasper Cain’s best regards.”

******************************

The paddy wagon that had been parked in the square creaked as it rumbled towards the castle and its dungeons. Cap watched as Smith drove it away, the prisoner inside pointedly not looking his way, so disgusted was he that he wouldn’t even deign to dignify his captor with a hateful glare. Underneath him, Romulus stood unrepentant, the horse's erect stance coupling with Cap's ramrod posture and glinting armor to complete the picture of a proud military officer. But the image felt superficial, the representation rang hollow, for at the moment the officer himself felt wholly underserving of the role. 

He was a coward. A coward who, when faced with an ethical dilemma, chose the course of action that would guarantee his own liberty at he expense of another’s. It would have been easy to let the man keep the apples and simply reimburse the fruitseller out of his own pocket; to inform him of the king’s new decree and left him off with a warning. But he didn’t. Instead he had done what he knew would please the king despite the guilt he felt, for God forbid word got out of his act of mercy and he find himself on the wrong side of the iron bars.

The wagon turned a corner, disappearing from view, and Cap shook his head to rid it of the thoughts. What’s done is done; no sense mulling over what could have been done differently. Besides, as a royal guard his first duty was to his king, which meant carrying out his commands regardless of whether he agreed with them. With that, he kicked Romulus into an unnaturally slow walk so they may follow the wagon at a distance, trying to ignore how the knot from the night before had returned, larger and tighter than before. 

For as bad as he may have felt about Cain the apple nicker, he felt exponentially worse about his final task of the day, the note in his pocket burning through the fabric to his skin, making him feel as though he bore a scarlet letter so all the world may know of his cowardice and what it as about to lead him to do.

******************************

It was almost dark by the time he got back, and Cassandra was much as he left that morning, with the sole difference being how she was lying down on the windowbench instead of sitting, draped in the blanket he had given her. He shut the door carefully, wincing as the hinges protested at his ill intentions, and took a seat next to her, minding to sit far enough away that she wouldn’t feel the cushion dip under his weight. She had pulled the blanket up to cover herself fully as though to hide from the world, and judging by the way she didn't stir in the slightest at his approach he guessed she was asleep (unless she was only pretending to sleep so he'd leave her alone? Would a four-year-old actually be able to think of that?). He bit back the urge to groan; given the turn her life had taken he’d be loathe to rouse her under the most agreeable of circumstances, much less to haul her off to an orphanage.

Were the fates deliberately trying to make his life as difficult as possible?

Cap let his eyes wander about the room, thoughts meandering as he stalled, not wanting to upend the girl’s world for the second time in as many days any sooner than absolutely necessary. They drifted over to the table, where a largely-untouched tray of food sat, and he remembered how he had run into Dagmar on his way back to his apartment and the assessment she’d provided of the foundling child. 

_"She’s a quiet, miserable little thing. Doesn’t talk, doesn’t eat more than a bite or two, if at all, hardly even shakes her head ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Whatever she went through did quite a bit of damage. Best be careful with her."_

Cap felt his hands tighten into fists; he had been to the orphanage a handful of times, escorting rowdy troublemakers back to the overworked nuns who were tasked with keeping them in line or, occasionally, dropping off much-needed donations as a favor to Dagmar and the other maids, the simple shirts and pillowcases always being met with profuse expressions of gratitude. And even though the building was a nice, roomy size, it always seemed too small thanks to the nuns’ policy of not turning away any child in need, which, while noble, resulted in the institution being perpetually bursting at the seems with forsaken children. Children who, he knew, tended to grow up rough, hardened, and, more often than not, turned to a life of crime once they grew from unwanted kids to adults wanted for the wrong reasons, adoptions being as common as a thunderstorm in winter: always a possibility, rarely a reality. 

And here he was, about to condemn the innocent, broken girl beside him to that fate (if adoptions were rare for typical kids, they were nonexistent for sullen, scrawny ones who gave the impression of having taken a vow of near-silence). No doubt he'd break her more in the process, the exact opposite of being ‘careful with her.’ King’s orders.

_King’s orders._

The bench was abandoned as Cap paced the small room as quietly as he could, mind seething and fingers shaking inside the clenched fists, those two words at present the most reprehensible in the English language. 

_King's orders._

The orders that had forced him to send a man off to the dungeons who, nary a day before, would still be allowed to return home that night to the kids he had been trying to feed; the orders that coerced Williams to agree to go against his better judgment when planning the search for the princess and would no doubt compel him to push his men and mounts to their limits and beyond. 

The orders that would force him to swing the mallet and shatter what was left of a brokenhearted girl.

One of the fists slammed into the pillow on the bed that Dagmar must’ve made up. All those years ago he had joined the guard from an ardent desire to serve and protect the people of Corona, keep them safe and secure, and help ensure that they could sleep peacefully at night. Never once had he considered the possibility of being asked, nay, _demanded_ , to go against his conscience lest he find himself at the mercy of his king. Even if he had, he would have dismissed the possibility as preposterous; Frederic was fair and kind and would never stoop to such iniquity. But ‘never’ failed to include His Majesty’s only child being kidnapped while he slept, driving him to madness, and now Cap was in a position where he could not afford to ignore the consequences.

The blanket-covered lump on the bench stirred, and Cap paused, watching as it gave a timid shiver before being pulled tighter, causing him to suddenly remember that blasted draft he really should fix. Without a second thought he headed over to the hearth and knelt, preparing to make a small fire to take the edge off the, now that he thought about it, chilly room (Williams was right; how did he go all winter barely using the thing?). The paper note in his pocket crinkled an admonishment as he crouched, reminding him that there was no point, he had to leave soon anyway, that he shouldn’t go through such trouble for a child that was none of his concern. The sound seemed to reverberate in the still room like a foreboding knell as he hunted up a second ancient-looking match that was as gray as the flagstones it had been nestled between (maybe it'd be worth it to swallow his pride and ask Dagmar if she could give the room a once-over; all this dust couldn't be healthy).

His hand faltered as it tried to strike the match once, twice, thrice before it lit, but the flame consuming the small wooden stick seemed insignificant to the one burning in his pocket and filling him with shameful heat.

This was wrong. Not him building a fire to help warm a too-thin girl; the king and his damn orders. The girl didn’t distract them the night before (no matter how distracting her incessant cries may have been); the trail had gone cold and there was nothing further to be done save for heading back to regroup. And she wouldn’t continue to distract him- them- by staying; she was quiet, so far well-behaved, and, well, how much trouble could she be? Besides, he was pretty sure he’d be driven to greater distraction by not knowing where she was, who she was with, whether she was warm or comfortable or if anyone was making sure she was eating enough (or at all) because—

Because he had gotten attached to her, for God’s sake! And (he couldn't believe he was going to admit this, even to himself), for some inscrutable reason that defied explanation, he loved her, actually _loved her_ , more than he thought possible considering he hadn’t even known her for a full day. Ever since he scooped her up off that doorstep and mounted Romulus with her in his arms, he had felt a pull drawing him to the girl, strong and irresistible as a warming fire on a bitter winter’s night. The sensation only strengthened as the night wore on and lightened into day, her tucked up against his side, quietly desperate for something he couldn't name but had apparently provided. It was an unbecoming sentiment for a lieutenant, he was sure, especially one who wanted to make captain someday (maybe sooner than he thought if Frederic's disposition towards Williams didn't improve), but it was the truth, a truth he was surprised to find he didn’t mind in the slightest.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the note from the king, instructing the orphanage to take the girl regardless of whether or not she was fit, and Williams’ words from the night before came back to him. 

_There are times when a soldier must go against orders to do what’s right_

As a guard, it was his duty to unfailingly obey his king’s orders, and he would continue to do so in every way he could, tirelessly searching for the princess until she was back safe in her parents’ arms, standing guard over the pompous dignitaries that sailed in on ships no doubt propelled by the hot air they spewed, and hunting down highwaymen and hoodlums so even the most remote woodland road could be navigated without fear. He would even follow those decrees made this morning in a fit. 

All excepting this one. 

He tossed the note into the fledging flames, feeding it to the miniature beast that was the young fire, and watched the king’s words crumble to ash before his eyes. Frederic's decree could burn for all it was worth; this child was no threat and his keeping her had no bearing on the safety of Corona’s royals or people.

And he _would_ keep her, even knowing as little as he did about kids. The crack that had briefly weakened his resolve to obey the king with pitiable Jasper Cain irreversibly crumbled it now, and from the debris a new one formed that was harder, hotter, and stronger than the old one had ever been. He hadn't known it at the time, but the next breath he took marked a watershed, for it was the first one he took where his king no longer resided in the most profound depths of his well of devotion, replaced by the unassuming girl covered by the simple blanket on the bench.

He turned away from the fire, now blazing with admirable energy, to the windowbench and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Cassandra sitting up and staring at him with those wide eyes of hers, the blanket having fallen to the floor (she really was quiet). 

“Um, hey,” he said, resolve, much to his dismay, not doing anything for his communication woes. “I, uh, made a fire. The room seemed cold, so....yeah. Want to maybe move closer?”

Cass's stare held as she didn’t answer and slowly edged away from him closer to the window, even as she shivered again. _She’s gonna catch her death._ He couldn’t help the parental thought as he took a careful step closer and bent to retrieve the wrinkled woolen cloth; even if she didn’t want him or the fire, the least she could do was use the blanket. 

She flinched when he extended a his hand holding the blanket out to her, and now that the room was lit by wavering orange-yellow light he could clearly see the tear tracks on her face and the swollen eyes that were their source, clear indicators that she had been crying again. “Something wrong?” he asked, concerned more so for her than for his lack of knowledge on how to help her. He truly wasn’t expecting a response, and so was surprised when one that was more breath than whisper came. 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” 

Her words were so hopeless, so broken, so full of fear and uncertainty that there were almost two sets of eyes streaming rivers in the room. Cap was silent for an uneasy moment as that old feeling of doubt from yesterday threatened to rear its head once again, but he quashed it down. True, he was terrible at these kinds of talks, rife with emotion and hearts laid bare rather than shielded behind the armor of rank and formality, but if he was going to do this, raise her, he supposed he’d have to at least try. She deserved as much. 

So he fought through years of mental brambles for words that felt close to right, forcibly pulling them out and away from the thorn-covered vines of emotional restraint, and answered. “Well, it’s gonna be just like I promised you last night, remember?” 

Skepticism crept into Cassandra's sad gaze as she hugged her knees to her chest and turned her head so she was staring at a moth-eaten hole on the cushion rather than him. She had apparently forgotten, or, worse, didn't believe him. Clearly more words were needed. Fighting the urge to reach out and turn her face back to meet his or lay a possibly comforting hand on the tiny shoulder, Cap started toying with a loose thread from the blanket. “I’m going to make sure you’re safe, have everything you need, and...” his next words seemed to drag across his tongue, so disused were they to treading that path, "and I was thinking...you could...stay with me.” 

It was Cassandra’s turn to look surprised. She blinked at him, as though not comprehending, then tilted her head in confusion. “For the night?” 

“No,” Cap answered with a small almost-smile. “A little longer than that. I was thinking...” Oh boy. He wasn’t sure he could say this. His eyes darted about in the dark before finally settling back on hers. “You could be my...daughter." The word was an unfamiliar taste on his tongue, a birdsong that had never before graced his ears, but was satisfying and pleasurable nonetheless, and the almost-smile became full. "And we could be a...sort of...family, you and me. Okay?" No answer, so he hastily added, “but only if you want. Would you...want that?” 

The only sounds were the oblivious fire and the unfeeling ticking of the clock, mechanical clicks filling the space between heartbeats as Cass's stare turned disbelieving. Then: “Why?” 

Why?

Cap took a deep breath that left him feeling just as breathless as if he had not, mind somehow stalling even though it had a ready answer. “Because...” His voice was low and uncertain, as though his mouth was unable to form the right words to match the thoughts in his mind and sentiments in his heart (ugh, feelings). 

“Because...” What do you tell a girl who has been abandoned by her own mother and can’t understand why anyone else would want her? 

“Because I...” Care about you. Want to make sure you're safe and healthy and happy. Can’t stand the thought of handing you over to someone else to never see again. Love you. 

“Because I just do.” 

_Idiot!_

But the not-an-answer answer seemed to be enough for Cassandra; muscles that had been tense and rigid a moment ago slackened and she gave a small, tentative, nod. “Okay.” The tension returned as quickly as it left. “You...really mean it?” (because he couldn't possibly....) 

“I mean it.”

And a speck of light, not from the fire, came into the sad eyes. A corner of her lip curved upwards into the smallest of shy smiles, her answer clear, and Cap realized what it was to have your heart melt. He honestly hadn’t seen anything more beautiful. 

She shivered again, and her gaze drifted to the fire, beckoning with the leaping flames, and Cap saw the desire written across her countenance as well as her hesitation to speak it. "So," he shuffled closer, and this time she didn't quail. "Sit by the fire, then?"

"Yes, please."

When Cap moved to drape the blanket again she did not flinch, and leaned into his touch when he picked her up and carried her over to the fire, settling her in his lap with movements that were already becoming familiar to both. 

Cass sighed and curled closer, craving his warmth more than the fire’s heat. Mama had been wrong, at least about these people, all of whom had been far from bad or evil and only done things to try and help her, with this man, this man who was making her heart feel all soft and full like Mama used to when she was in a good mood, going so far as to let her live with him. 

_Mama._

The soft, full feeling was disturbed by the squeezing ache that had been sitting heavily in her chest all day, and she let another tear or two fall. She still missed Mama, wished she hadn’t left, wished she’d come back, just for a minute, so Cass could try one last time to earn her love and convince her to stay. 

But that wouldn’t happen. The cottage, the meadow, Mama, were gone; she’d live here, with the nice man in the small room that looked out over the not-deer and go on trying to not think about Mama, and maybe one day she’d finally succeed and the ache would go away.

He was talking again, and his voice rumbled in his chest and to her ear. “In a bit we can get some supper, and tomorrow I’ll see about getting you a bed; I’m sure there's a spare one lying around here somewhere. I'll also ask some of the maids if they know of any other dresses you can wear...” 

Whatever else he had to say went unheard as Cass let her thoughts drift, lulled by the sound of the nice man making plans for tomorrow to make her a permanent part of his life. Well, maybe not permanent. Mama had left, and maybe one day he would too; tire of her or think she wasn't’ worthy of his love. But that wouldn’t happen tomorrow, judging by what he was saying, and after that she could work to make sure it wouldn’t happen again. But for now, this was nice; this was enough.

Cap glanced down; she had fallen asleep again, breaths even and untroubled as she leaned against him. He ran a hand over her knot-riddled hair, then moved to brush a crystal tear from her cheek, a fond light in his eyes, absolutely taken with the child (how on earth could her mother have even thought of leaving her?). A particularly frisky flame leapt higher than its fellows, the resultant bucking glow traipsing across his sword leaning against the wall, drawing his eye, and he found his thoughts drifting to the days ahead. 

He had no idea how he would do this, raise a kid whilst maintaining the demanding, sometimes dangerous life of a royal guard; even less of how to explain this, not to Williams (who would hopefully understand), not to his men and the castle staff (who would definitely start sharing remarks they were convinced were clever when his back was turned), and certainly not to Frederic, the king he had just defied (he heard Ingvarr was nice this time of year).

But no matter. 

No matter any doubts or uncertainties, the whispers that would fly behind his back, the mistakes he would make or lack of knowledge of even how to _talk_ to her. This felt _right,_ like joining the guard had. More so, for while he could one day, in the distant future, envision stepping down and retiring from his post (provided he wasn't killed in the line of duty, God forbid, a thought whose implications suddenly seemed more dire than they had before), Cassandra had instantly become a facet of his life he knew he never wanted to be without. 

The logical naysaying voice that had nattered incessantly the night before did not make a reappearance and the doubts lay dormant, leaving only certainty, determination, and that oh-so-unfamiliar but oh-so-welcoming feeling of affection for the girl on his lap. On impulse, he bent down and planted a quick kiss in the rat’s nest of curls atop her head, and she smiled through the fog of sleep and made a contented humming sound, nuzzling him. Warmth bloomed like the summer sun beneath where she lay, and he let an admittedly sappy smile overtake his face. 

Yup. He was attached, and he couldn’t have cared less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And with that, Cap realizes what we’ve all been saying since Chapter 1. Congratulations, Cap; you’re a dad now!
> 
> This was originally the end of the fic, but then I realized that I left too many loose plot threads hanging for my liking and decided to have some fun pulling them to see where they led. If you’re curious about what’s next in store for Cap and Cass, I hope you’ll stick around!
> 
> I probably won’t get around to posting the next chapter until after the holidays, but on that note I just want to say a huge _Thank You_ to everyone who’s read, commented on, or left a kudos on one of my fics this year! Posting these stories marked my first time actually contributing to a fandom as well as sharing my writing, and the experience has been beyond anything I could have imagined. All your encouragement and support has gone a long way towards motivating me to keep writing and sharing, and for that I am truly grateful. I’m incredibly honored that you all made my fics a part of your year. Thank you all so much for being one of the brightest bright spots in my 2020! Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and best wishes for what’s left of the year! 💙


	6. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set several days after the previous chapter. Cass is trying to adjust to her new life in the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hath returned! 
> 
> So sorry this took so long to upload; a new term started and the workload is far heavier than I anticipated. 
> 
> Really quick note: this chapter and the next serve as a sort of interlude between the two halves of this story, so they're not really very plot heavy; mostly just Cass adjusting to her new life and Cap bonding with her. If you like that kinda stuff, hopefully you'll enjoy this! 
> 
> And advance apologies if this chapter isn't the best-written; my head's all over the place right now.

Cassandra sighed, leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window as she stared vacantly out at the...

What were they called again? The not-deer grazing outside the window? She knew earlier, because the nice man, the one she lived with now and whose name she wasn’t quite sure of (she thought she had heard someone call him 'Cap,' but that couldn’t possibly be it since that was a thing you wore on your head and not a name), he had told her what they were called the other day as she sat on his lap after he had come back from ‘being a guard’ and ‘patrolling the city.' The word had to be in there somewhere; memories couldn’t just disappear, no matter how much she wished they could.

Or at least one particular set of memories.

She continued to dredge the shallow depths of her memory for the elusive word, but gave up after a few minutes, the name of the beasts refusing to so much as drift into the fringes of her thoughts. Figures. Of all the things she wanted to forget, it had to be the one thing she wanted to remember (she should really be more specific when wishing for things like that). 

A sigh clouded a small patch of glass. Oh well. No matter. Her head was too tired from trying to forget things to bother with remembering and too full of thick, heavy fog to be quick about the task. _Besides,_ Cass thought as she continued to watch the creatures slowly ambling about their pen, stopping only to tear up mouthfuls of grass, _knowing won’t change anything._ It wouldn't make her feel any better, and it wouldn't bring back-

She shuddered to shake off the thought and wrenched her thoughts in a different direction, towards a different person.

Without moving, she slid her eyes over to the clock resting on a shelf, staring dully at the little hand creeping along in time to the ticking sound that filled the silence of the room like a lone cricket that had found its way indoors. She squinted as she studied the small black hands indicating the time of day and sighed again, a disappointed sound riding on its tail. She didn’t know how to read the clock like a grown-up, but she knew that, judging by where the hands were, it’d still be a while yet before the nice man got back and could tell her what the animals were called.

That is, _if_ he came back. 

Because no matter how many days trudged by where he promised her, before leaving in the morning, that he would, and how many evenings turned the sky mournful indigo where he stepped through the door saying, in a voice that actually sounded something like glad, “Cass, I’m back,” she never could shake the feeling that, this day, he wouldn’t. After all, Mama had said-

She redoubled her efforts to recall the name for the not-deer.

A rattling sound snapped her attention to the door as the knob turned and the lady, Dagmar, as the man reminded her every morning, bustled in, just like she had a few hours ago; she did this several times a day to, as she put it, ‘check on her.’ Cass didn’t understand that. Why did these people think she needed to be ‘checked on?’ ‘Checked’ for what? She didn’t use to need that sort of attention. Why, Mama would leave her alone for-

_Don’t think about Mama!_

“Good afternoon, Cassandra,” probably-Dagmar said, pulling Cass’s thoughts back to the room and placing a tray holding a plate and cup on the table. “I brought you some lunch.” 

Cass said or did nothing in response beyond apathetically eyeing the tray from her perch before turning back to the grassy area outside the window. One of the animals was rolling on its back, spindly white legs in the air like autumn branches against the crisp blue sky. Huh. That was new. She had never seen an animal do something like that before. Maybe it would do something else interesting once it stood up again, provided it wasn’t dying. 

Dagmar stayed by the table a while longer before sighing and moving to stand next to the bench. “Don’t you want to at least try some, dear?” Cass lifted her head from the glass just enough to shake it in a hard, firm ‘no,’ not even bothering to meet the woman’s admittedly kind, slightly worried gaze. “Are you sure?” she pressed. “You must be at least a little hungry.”

Cass wasn’t. She had woken up with a stomachache her first day here, and it had never completely gone away, despite how good everyone had been to her and how tasty the food smelled. It felt like a thick, heavy snake were coiled in her belly, taking up all the space so there was no room for anything else as it squirmed and writhed sickeningly. Sometimes, when the nice man was around and she was seated across from him while he ate his own meals, it would shrink a little and make a tiny amount of room, allowing her to swallow a bite or two, just enough to keep any determined hunger that managed to fight past the snake at bay. But right now? Now, she was worried anything she managed to shove down would find its way right back up, and then there was no telling what these people would do if she made such a mess. Mama had gotten madder than usual the one time it happened, face redder than her favorite dress, so it only made sense-

_No! Don’t think about her!_

Cass shook her head harder than she had when answering Dagmar’s first question, simultaneously trying to fling off the heartbreaking memory. 

A tsk-ing sound reached Cass’s ears as Dagmar clucked her tongue and shook her head as well. “Well, its there if you change your mind.” She seemed to have nothing more to say after that and simply stood, companionably watching the placid animals alongside Cass. “Magnificent creatures, aren’t they?” she mused out of nowhere, and when Cass snuck a peek her old gray-blue eyes were trained on the world beyond the window instead of the girl on the bench. “I never was much of a rider myself, beyond sitting on the back of old Ginny as she plowed fields back when I was about your age. But I can still appreciate a well-bred creature such as the guard uses. And they are nice to look at, don’t you agree?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Cass hummed with the barest of nods, deeming such a sentiment worthy of a response (the animals _were_ very nice). She peeked out the corner of her eye just in time to see the surprised look on the woman’s face, something that would appear without fail whenever Cass made any sort of talking-type noise in her presence, the sight never failing to lessen the leaden feeling in her chest the tiniest bit for a breath or two (at one point in her life she would have smiled at such an expression, but not anymore). 

Perhaps bolstered by her success, the woman continued to talk, making remarks that received no reaction and asking questions that hung expectantly in the air before dropping to the floor in defeat. Cass listened for a while before tuning her out, deciding she was done with conversation (answering two questions and agreeing about the animals was more than enough for one day) and continuing to watch the whatever-they-were as though she were still alone. 

Finally Dagmar glanced at the clock. “Well, Cassandra,” she said on another sigh (people sure seemed to do that a lot around here, or at least around her), “I’m afraid I have to be going now; it’s laundry day, and I fear I’ve left those girls alone long enough." She 'hmphed' through her nose before adding, "I pray they haven’t done something so foolish as toss the reds in the same washtub as the whites again.” Cass’s ears perked just the slightest at ‘laundry day.’ That was something she knew all about. That was the day she’d gather up all the sheets and clothes in the cottage and toss them in a steaming cauldron over a fire that Mama-

She listened extra hard to what Dagmar was continuing to say.

“You know, I can wash that dress for you, get it all nice and clean. Would you like to change into something else and I can see about throwing that in with the laundry? I’ll make sure you get it back as soon as possible.” 

“No.” Cass granted the woman another syllable, wanting to make sure there was no misunderstanding in this very important area. She clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to scratch at her collar where the fabric, stiff with dirt and sweat, was starting to rub against her skin in a disagreeable way. The dress _did_ need a washing, had needed one for a few days now, but that would mean taking it off to put on one of the new ones the nice man had collected from some of the women she heard through the door and glimpsed in the hall when it was cracked. And while they were certainly very nice dresses, all attractive colors and soft, clean-smelling fabric, she couldn’t bring herself to slip off the old green one and replace it with something new. Everything in her life had changed overnight, and if she could keep this one thing the same, then maybe...

She didn't know what. Her stomachache would go away? The fog in her had would lift? She’d stop waking up to find her face wet even though she didn’t remember crying? Who cared; either way she wasn’t wearing anything else except this dress.

That surprised look came again, then Dagmar pursed her lips and stared dourly at Cass’s dirt-spotted, dust-tinted, pale green dress with fraying hems and drooping orange patch on the skirt. She said nothing else on the matter, though, beyond a resigned “Very well, then. Perhaps next time.” 

Perhaps never.

With that, Dagmar turned away and headed back towards the door, steps tapping crisply against the stone floor. The taps stopped of a sudden, and Cass could practically hear the woman thinking something over. She had a hunch what it was, so she wasn't surprised in the least when Dagmar asked, "Cassandra, would you like to come help? We can always use another set of hands. I'll make sure to have you back long before the Lieutenant-“ (that was another thing people called the nice man, but it didn’t sound like a name either) “-returns so you'll be sure to not miss him."

Cass squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head so the tousled curls trembling in a sort of reflection of the look that had flashed through the hazel before they were hid. Dagmar asked her that same question every day, trays of unwanted lunch coming with offers to join her and be helpful in the kitchen or laundry yard or wherever else she was heading. And while a part of her, a small, distant, quailing part, leapt like a silvery fish in a creek at the prospect of doing something useful to try and earn the man's love so he’d want to keep coming back to her, a greater part of her stamped it down. For going with Dagmar to be helpful meant leaving the room to venture beyond the door, and that was something she had no desire to do. All her sense of curiosity and adventure seemed to have been left behind in her old life at the cottage, leaving nothing in its place but timidity and trepidation. 

Back before, she had wanted nothing more than to travel with Mama to the towns and villages past the meadow. Now, she was content to wile away her days within a single set of four walls, wanting only to sit on her familiar bench in the day and in the man’s comforting lap at night. It was dumb, she knew, and a far cry from the adventurer she had secretly wanted to be when she grew up, but it was safe, quiet, and peaceful. After everything that happened, that was all she wanted, even if it meant running the risk of being viewed as a ‘burden,’ as Mama used to say if she sat around not doing anything useful for too long; while she didn’t know what that was, judging by the way the word used to fall from Mama’s lips, colder than long-dead ashes in winter, it wasn’t something to be proud of that made her worthy of love, and was probably a big part of the reason why she-

Cass hunched her shoulders so they crowded her ears, curling around the squeezing pain in her chest as her long lashes caught the few tears that slipped through before Dagmar could notice (it was bad enough she cried in front of the man).

“I’ll check back in on you later, then," Dagmar said as the door swung inward and she stepped into the hall. "Please try and have some lunch.” (that was another of castle life's great mysteries: why everyone seemed so interested in how much she ate. Castles, she had decided, must not be very interesting places if whether or not she had any lunch garnered this much attention).

Cass listened for the knob to rattle and door to creak and close with a **thud** before straightening up from the glass to lean back against the wall of the alcove, fingers idly tugging at the patch on her skirt so a few more stitches called it quits, mind anything but as she forced memories of the day she'd sewn on the patch, complete with a once-cherished recollection of a thin smile and approving pat on the head, back into the shadows. The glass was clouded again as the hazel eyes continued to track the animals as they grazed and walked and swished their tails (no more rolling, much to her disappointment).

She wished she had something to do and distract her from thoughts of Mama, something besides staring dully out the window (not that she didn't like the window) and ruining the only dress she’d consent to wear that did _not_ involve leaving this room; perhaps a chore or two to make the day pass by a little faster.

She turned away from the window to let her gaze list about the small apartment, habitually fishing for something that needed to be swept or dusted or polished. No such luck. The space gleamed from floor to ceiling, sunlight frisking across surfaces and furnishings that glowed with pride at how clean they were, from the swept-clean flagstones of the hearth to the small dust-free bookshelf that housed more reams of paper and rolled-up scrolls than actual books to the nice comfy armchair the man had dragged into the room not long after she got there and where he sat her on his lap in the evening as he read through endless sheets of paper, scribbling a word or two on some, until it was time to turn in. Dagmar really had done a good job the other day when, at the man's request (one made with much neck-rubbing and throat-clearing and, on Dagmar's part, silent gloats), she'd come in with bucket and scrub brush and spent a good part of the day attacking what she said was 'a career's worth of dirt' ('a career,' Cass had deduced, must be a very long stretch of time, longer even than a month or season). 

It was nice of her, Cass supposed, to tackle the daunting project that was the room so she didn't have to, but at times like these she wished she hadn't; then she'd have something to keep her busy and give her purpose, like on her first day when she'd made up the man's bed. She was inclined to think that'd be better than just sitting and watching and waiting on the windowbench. Though perhaps she shouldn't complain, because this was, like the dress, a part of her life that stayed the same. For despite the change in scenery it was just like how she'd used to wait for...for...

The clock's constant tapping against the air seemed to slow, and in the space between the _*ticks*_ a melody she had heard so many times she knew it as surely as she knew her name or the color of her hair began to chime through her thoughts, precious, gentle words following on its heels.

_”Now remember, Cassandra: Mummy loves you very much.”_

Cass moaned as she buried her face in her knees, almost sneezing from the dust embedded in her skirt, shoulders shaking and breaths shuddering as she fought to keep the insistent sobs at bay. The memory of her voice, Mama's voice, honeyed and loving, had pricked her heart like a needle, stinging and sharp in a way the other thoughts did not, and she found her eyes burning from the despairing, crushing feeling that spiraled through her. 

Why couldn’t those thoughts just _go away_ and _leave her alone!_ Why did they have to keep thrusting themselves into her head so the room was replaced by a different, prettier one and a pair of gray eyes she missed so, _so_ much crinkled down at her with a long-wished-for smile? It wasn't fair! She didn’t _want_ to remember Mama! She wasn’t coming back, she didn’t want to be with Cass anymore, didn't want to be her mama! Cass wouldn’t see her again _ever,_ so what was the point in remembering? What was the point when it only made her heart hurt and head ache and the snake in her stomach tie in a knot? Why couldn’t she just wake up and find this was all a bad dream and she was back in the cottage with Mama? Or if she had to stay here without her, wake up and forget everything that happened before she came here? Why-

“Cassandra?”

Cass looked up with a little gasp, almost jumping in surprise when she discovered that the nice man was standing right next to her, where Dagmar had stood not too long ago. She stared up at him, a morass of confusion and relief and disbelief eddying 'round the hazel pools. He was back already? Wait, he actually came back? 

His face was anxious as he sat down next to her. “Everything alright?”

Of course it wasn’t.

“C’mere,” he said, patting his knee when she shook her head dismally in response. She crawled over to settle in his lap, like she did every afternoon when he miraculously came back, and leaned against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Didn’t want any lunch today?” he asked, rubbing a thumb back and forth across her shoulder. 

“No.”

There was worry in his grumbling sigh to match what she had glimpsed in his eyes, and while she felt bad for making him feel that way, there really wasn’t anything she could do about it. He should talk to the intrusive snake. 

The thumb continued treading its comforting path, tacitly saying it was alright, she could try again at dinner, and Cass leaned heavily against the man’s chest, melting into his embrace, the now-ever-present cloud of misery hanging over her head lifting a hair or two at his touch, his presence, the simple, wonderous fact that he had once again returned to her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about most of her new life, but she did know that she liked him a whole, whole lot, with his strong arms and gentle hands and rumbling voice that called her ‘sweetheart’ in such a nice way, so unlike how Mama used to-

The cloud started to lower again, threatening rain.

“Do you want to do something different today?” 

She pulled away a little to look up at him with her head cocked in confusion. ‘Different?' 

He grinned and tilted his head towards the window, indicating the grassy field. “How about we go down and see the horses-” (horses! _That_ was the word!) “-up close?” 

Cass blinked as she replayed his words.

_Go down and see the horses._

_Up close._

She glanced out at them, scattered across the grass like ducks in a lazy pond. As many hours as she had spent watching, admiring, and puzzling over them, she had never once considered this as a thing she could do. The idea that she could, though, spurred a thrill to swirl about inside her, dissolving some of the fog and cowing the snake just a tad as the silvery fish leapt again. But that would also mean...

Her glance traveled across the apartment to the door leading out into the hall. 

It’d mean leaving the room. 

The thought made her heart pound as she gripped her filthy skirt with shaking fingers. The last time she'd ventured out into the world beyond the door played out in her mind's eye as vivid as though she were living that terrible, terrible night all over again. The sights and sounds of the room, even the feel of the man’s arm around her, faded away, replaced by driving rain and thunder that grieved the lightning it missed; cold, wet night was nothing compared to the cold, leaden pit in her stomach; surrounding voices that were anxious, gruff, and angry, with her own anguished cries rising above the rest as her heart shattered in her chest with every beat.

No, she couldn't go outside and risk disrupting her quiet, peaceful, just-a-little-boring existence, even if it meant disappointing the man who was still staring expectantly at her, waiting for 'yes.' In here, she knew exactly what to expect from Dagmar, the man, the unchanging view of 'horses' outside the window; there was nothing 'out there' could offer her that 'in here' couldn't except things she didn’t want; her old self with dreams of adventure couldn’t have been more wrong.

_“Cassandra, darling, there’s nothing for you out there. Stay inside and get back to work, and perhaps Mummy will tell you a story tonight.”_

Cass started at the sound of Mama’s voice in her head, louder and clearer than before, making it seem that for a brief, soaring moment, she had come back too, and the man’s arm around her tightened in apology. Swallowing a groan, Cass buried her face into his shoulder, only distantly feeling his hand on her back and voice in her ear saying that there was no need to get upset about it, they didn’t have to go out, they could stay in if she’d rather do that. 

Why couldn’t she just forget? Why wouldn’t the thoughts of Mama stay away, pushed back into the dark corners where she’d never see them again even if she looked? _Think about something else,_ she tried to command her disobedient mind, but it only snickered back. _What else is there to think about? There’s nothing interesting in here, nothing to distract._ And almost worse than the thoughts was the depressing fact that they were right.

An idea suddenly took hold, weak and flickering like a lonely star, but still shining, still giving light. True, there wasn't anything interesting in here, but...

“Okay.”

“Okay you want to stay in?” the man repeated, confused. 

“Okay let’s go see the horses.” 

She didn’t return his broad smile, but that didn’t stop it from soothing some of the pain in her chest, at least for the time being.

******************************

Cass made sure to wrap her arms extra tight around the man’s neck as he strode through the endless corridors that seemed to go on forever. She did _not_ want to accidentally let go and fall out of his arms; if she did, she was sure she’d never find her way back to the small, safe room again. Every time they turned a corner another hallway would stretch out before them, identical to the one they just left; she had tried to keep track of their path, turning left then right then right again, but had quickly given up (how did anyone find their way around here?). Even if she had managed to keep all the lefts and rights straight, there were too many doors, all looking exactly the same as the one leading to the apartment they had left behind, and far, far too many people.

It wasn’t that Cass didn’t know there were other people in the castle besides the man she lived with now, Dagmar, and the man she had seen only once, the one who had eaten breakfast with them that first day (whatever happened to him, anyway?). She just didn't realize there were _so many._ Rarely did they enter a hallway without finding a man or two who were dressed like hers or a woman dressed like Dagmar, usually carrying a basket filled with linens or pushing a cart heavy with laundry (there sure was a lot of it. Good thing it wasn’t her job here; she’d rather be bored). 

Without fail the people they passed would stop what they were doing to send a quick greeting their way, standing straight as trees (the men) or nodding their heads like wildflowers in the wind (the women), saying things like, “Afternoon, Sir,” or “Good day, Lieutenant,” or just “Sir” (seriously, how could one man have so many names that didn’t sound like names?). Then, also without fail, they’d look at her, faces holding nothing but curiosity and something sad and sorry she couldn’t place. A few would say things like “Oh, is this her?” (of course it was her, who else would she be?) and “Well, what do we have here?” (again, her, who else?), or, from that one man whose eyes glinted like a crow's as it waited on the eaves for her to turn her back so it could resume pillaging the small herb garden, “Ya know, I was starting to think she didn’t exist.” (she treated him to her best imitation of the look Mama used to use when she was upset, which for some reason only made him chuckle and Sir/Cap/Loo-something to shush him sternly). She mentally counted them as they went, and by the time she got as high as she could, she had decided that more than ten people in one place was definitely too many. Life was just fine when there were only two: her and-

The man stepping out into a courtyard spared her from the mental effort of getting rid of that thought.

Cass blinked hard a few times, her eyes taking longer than usual to adjust to the wild, unrestrained sunlight of outdoors. It seemed stronger and brighter than she remembered as it warmed her skin in a way that the fireplace did not, soaking into her dark hair and seeping through her thin dress like a more considerate, kinder sort of rain. Her grip around the man's neck slackened slightly as her taut muscles relaxed, the tension eased by the rays' soothing touch. A friendly breeze skipped across her skin, playing with her curls, and she took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent and taste of air that was alive and free rather than still and stagnant as it sat unmoving inside. A corner of her mouth pulled up without her realizing; she forgot how good that felt.

"Nice being outside again, huh?” the man asked, sounding pleased. 

“Mm-hmm,” Cass nodded. A sudden trilling sound snapped her head to look up at roof of the building they’d just left behind. The man followed her gaze, spotting the proudly singing bird that had grabbed Cass's attention, chest puffed out as the notes rang out over the yard. 

“You like birds, huh?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“Do you...have a favorite?”

Cass turned to him, skeptical. Really? He wanted to know what she thought? What she liked? He should know that didn’t matter; after all, Mama said-

But one look at his waiting face told her that, yes, he actually _did_ want to know, for some odd reason, and seemed to think that what she thought _did_ matter. Huh. Well, if he was asking...

Cass scrunched her brow as she watched the singing bird, visibly thinking the matter over. “Owls,” she finally said, thinking back to the ones she used to see in the meadow sometimes when she’d wake up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep. She’d sit on the windowbench wrapped in her blanket and watch them swoop down into the tall grass and soar back up into the night sky, usually gripping something tightly in their claws. They looked kind of scary, with their glowering eyes, pointy beak, and raking claws, but she found them beautiful nonetheless, even though they didn’t have bright colors or sing songs like the blue and yellow creature who was serenading them. 

The man hummed agreeably. “Owls are nice. I can see why you’d like them.” Her chest felt suddenly warm, from something that wasn’t the sun, and Cass allowed the other corner of her mouth to curve.

He said nothing else, and the two of them continued to watch the bird, enjoying its song. Suddenly another song joined it, with low, quick notes that sounded surprisingly close to her ear. She turned to face the man with eyes wide. Did he... 

The man pursed his lips and, to Cass’s amazement, _whistled_ just like the bird. 

How?

Before she could ask the bird paused in its song and stared down at them. It studied them with critical black beads, looking incredibly put-off that anyone dare interrupt his serenade, then he flew over to a nearby tree and began again, louder and bolder than before as though challenging the man to steal his spotlight again.

“How’d you do that?” Cass half-breathed, half-whispered, full of awe. 

“Practice,” was his simple response as he struck off past the tree, leaving the indignant bird behind. Cass glanced over his shoulder at the bird, then back to him, and for the first time since arriving she found herself thinking beyond today, wondering if he could teach her that trick.

******************************

The horses were gathered in the far end of their pen when they arrived, swishing their long tails as they stood in a bunch under a thick leafy tree, backs to their visitors. “They’re probably hot,” the man explained to a disappointed Cass (she wanted to see them _up close_ ). “But,” he added when he saw her shoulders droop, "I don't think one or two would mind coming over for a bit." He waved a hand towards a man not dressed like him standing outside a large building, beckoning him over. 

Cass couldn’t help but shrink into her man’s arms as he came over. In all her vast experience with men stretching back to a few days ago, none were as big as this one. Taller than the one holding her and as wide across as two, no, _three_ of him, he seemed to block out the sun, and his shadow was like a piece of the night that followed him around. She stared, unblinking, horses momentarily forgotten as she tried to figure out how it was possible a person could be so...huge, mind racing as it tore through every one of Mama's warnings about the world beyond the meadow, searching for anything that indicated giants were counted among the bad, evil people she had yet to encounter.

“Cassandra," Sir or Cap or something else was saying. “This is Peder. He helps takes care of the horses.”

The giant bent down, humping his back so he was only a little taller than her man was, and smiled in a friendly way, eyes welcoming and free of the curiosity and sorry-ness of the others. “Hello, Cassandra.”

His words were unlike any Cass had heard before, thick and distant like he was speaking through muffling glass, so you had to concentrate to understand what he was saying, but they were tender and soothing as they flowed past her ears like a balm, and the echoes of the old sharp lecturing voice were shoved aside. Mama would continue to be proven wrong. This man, Peder: his face held nothing but kindness; he was, like the nice man holding her securely in his arms, far from bad and evil. And, well, he seemed to trust Peder; perhaps, maybe, she could too. So she fought the urge to bury her face in the man's shoulder and continued to hold Peder's steady gaze, as close to a greeting as she would give (trust first, friendliness later).

“So, Peder.” There was a note of excitement in her man's words, and she could hear his smile. “Think you could convince one of the horses to come over and say hello?”

Peder straightened (so tall....) and nodded. “Of course, sir." (okay, his name was _definitely_ 'Sir;’ good thing she figured that out). "Just a minute.” Cass’s eyes were glued to his retreating back as he disappeared inside the large building and emerged with a tangle of leather strips in his hand. He stepped through the pen's gate and approached the horses, touching them and talking to them until he was walking towards them with a dapple-y gray one close behind, finally stopping at the section of fence where her and Sir stood.

If Peder was huge, the horse was enormous. Cass could only stare open-mouthed at the monstrous animal towering above her; it’s head alone, she was sure, was as long as she was tall, and if Sir were to put her down her head wouldn’t even come up to the creature’s knobby knees (she made sure to tighten her grip on his neck so he didn't get any ideas). Peder had a hand on its neck, stroking the white spots that peppered the gray coat like puffs of clouds in a winter sky. “Cassandra," he said, "This is Pietra."

The horse made a sound, both breathy and rumbling, as it stepped forward and stretched out its massive neck so its massive head was only inches away from Cass, staring at her with large, deep brown eyes that were both as soft as down and lively as sparking coals. Its giant nose twitched and shivered, and Cass reminded herself that they ate grass and not people (good thing, too, because if the horse wanted to it could probably swallow her in a single gulp). Pietra made a puffing noise, sending a gust of hot air crashing into Cass that smelled like nothing she recognized, but she didn’t so much as flinch, completely transfixed by the animal, mind blank of all thoughts save for awe. 

“Here.” Sir gently loosed one of her arms from its death-grip on his neck and straightened it so it was reaching out towards the horse. The great animal stretched its nose further, and only stopped when it met Cass’s hand.

Cass had never felt anything like it. It was soft in a way that was different from blankets and bedsheets, and warm, like the man was when she leaned against his side or snuggled into his arms. The horse blew out again, and the skin beneath Cass’s hand trembled with the motion of is breath, her own stilling in amazement. Sir was saying encouraging words and moving her hand up and down so she was stroking the horse's nose like Peder was its neck, and her heart fluttered like a butterfly landing on the perfect flower. 

The animal made a _*nick nick nick*_ sound and pushed against her hand, clearly liking her touch and wanting more. 

Cass was only too happy to oblige.

She couldn't remember the last time she smiled this big.

By the time they returned to the apartment, the sun was sinking and Cass's head was filled with images of Pietra and Juno and Romulus, who the man pointed out as his horse and scolded when he pinned his ears and clacked his teeth at her. Her hands tingled with the sensation of velvet muzzles and fine silken manes and moist bristly lips as Peder the giant (who was really, really nice) showed her how to feed them apples and cubes of sugar, slipping her an extra slice with a wink when he saw the way she watched the sweet juices drip from the chewing mouths (the snake was apparently scared of horses and had gone for the time being; plus, she did like apples). Her ears rang with nickers and _*whuffs*_ , her own high squeal of delight when Pietra nuzzled and lipped at her hair, which Sir said was her way of getting to know her (she still couldn't believe the horse _wanted_ to get to know her), and his voice as he answered her shy question as they left, saying that of course they could go and visit the horses again tomorrow. 

She didn’t realize it, but after touching the horse, she hadn’t thought about Mama once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww! Baby Cass likes the horsies!
> 
> Was this chapter okay? I liked it a lot when I wrote the first draft back in August, but now...*shrugs*. I dunno, maybe I’m just being overly critical. Either way, I hope you enjoyed this! It may be a few weeks before I get a chance to post the next chapter, but I assure you, there’s no way I’m abandoning this fic or this series. I’ll see you all then!


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